


Methods of Survival

by Toward_The_Horizon



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Dont want to spoil anything, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, criminal! hongjoong, hongjoong not so much, kpop, lawyer! san, lawyer! seonghwa, pick pocket hongjoong, seonghwa has a heart of gold, updates weekly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24570214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toward_The_Horizon/pseuds/Toward_The_Horizon
Summary: Hongjoong doesn't have it easy. A combination of bad luck and his own terrible decision making skills have landed him in some hot water, and he struggles to keep himself afloat day by day, now and again bending some laws to make ends meet. It's become a routine now, and he can't deny that a small part of him enjoys it, the thrill of charming pockets of suckers who'll never know how good they've got it.Most of the time he gets away with it. It just so happens that this is one of the times he doesn't.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 48
Kudos: 183





	1. Guardian Angel

It’s an overcast day, the sky a bruised blue nearing grey and the scent of rain thickening in the air with every second. Hongjoong sits on the bottom step outside one of the city's identical street-level apartments, the thin stairs leading up to a navy door, lined on both sides with a dark iron gate. It’s a favourite spot of his, perfect for days like this, when the promise of rain- most likely a storm, too- in the air sends the city into a rushed frenzy, pedestrians racing by to get home. Hongjoong’s favourite time of the day.

He sighs, making a show of stretching out his tired limbs. He’s always looked a little young for his age (must be his height) and that fact coupled with the other, that his limited wardrobe is made up almost entirely of sweatshirts and bomber jackets, allows him to escape most people’s attention, just another college kid in the backdrop of a city too busy to wonder why he’s been waiting for a friend for so long on a block far too expensive for him to afford, dressed as he is.

He wonders, as he always does when the rain threatens, what he’ll do when he starts looking older, and people stop assuming he’s just another student loitering around with nothing to do. As always, he shoves the thought to the back of his mind as he pulls up his hood. A black sweatshirt under a brown denim jacket, the warmest things he owns, is still not quite enough to keep out the chill, so he digs in his pockets for his gloves, sliding them on and not for the first time cursing the fact that they have to be fingerless.

Then he takes off down the street.

There’s a knack to this that only comes with practice, and Hongjoong has had plenty. He lets himself slip into the reverie of it, the watchfulness, the focus he only manages to find in moments like this, when his eyes start to follow people down streets. If only he could focus like this all the time. 

The knack has to do with the speed. Everything’s about speed here, on the busy streets of the city, but too fast and he might drop something, his fingers slip, and give up the game. Too slow, and whatever sucker had come too close to him might notice. Fast, but not too fast. If they’re looking down at their phone, double points. Never target someone walking with a friend. They need to be alone, and distracted.

He lets a few opportunities pass him, a superstition he allows himself when the streets are as ripe for the picking as they are today, because his luck could never be that good. He never picks out the first person he sees that matches the criteria. It’d be too good to be true.

He picks out the real target pretty quickly after letting a couple pass him by. They’re older than him- necessary, Hongjoong has found, because kids his age are so aware of each other’s presence they rarely get close enough to him- and well dressed, but not quite enough to live in this neighbourhood. A long dark jacket that looks more than warm enough to fight the cold, which Hongjoong lets himself fantasise about for a second, over a casual suit. Must work in an office. He’s staring at his phone as he walks, glancing up every now and then to avoid walking into a streetlight. He isn’t carrying a bag, which just screams " _rob me!"_ , in Hongjoong’s humble opinion, because his wallet's either in his trouser pocket or inside his suit blazer, and the way he’s walking makes it very clear which one of the two it is. He’s so much wider and taller than Hongjoong that there really is only one way to do it, because no one in their right mind would purposefully walk straight into someone who could send them flying so easily- which is exactly what Hongjoong does.

His shoulder hits somewhere on the other guy’s arm, stopping them both for a confusion of a second that lets Hongjoong’s hand find the wallet- trouser pocket. Guessing correctly is almost as satisfying as feeling the cool of the leather against his fingertips as he tucks it against his forearm and then behind his back, into the waistband of his jeans.

The guy looks guilty as Hongjoong apologises profusely, perhaps with too much vigour, but sometimes he can’t help getting carried away, because he’s so much bigger and this college kid who's younger and smaller is blushing and making such a big deal of walking into him when the guy had been on his phone. The poor guy probably thinks it was his fault, Hongjoong thinks.

The first one goes well, then. The older man gets very uncomfortable with apologies he doesn’t think he deserves and bolts pretty quickly down the street. A raging success.

The second takes him longer, because he needs to change blocks to do it. It’d be crazy to pick two pockets on the same block- the only time he’d been desperate enough to do it there’d been a cop chasing him. 

He passes to another street in amongst a crowd of busy people, jostling a few to give the impression that he’s busy, too. He takes the wallet from his waistband and tucks it safely away in the pocket he’d sewn into the inside of his sweatshirt, zipping it up all the way to his neck and pulling the denim jacket closer to hide the bulge in the fabric. He doesn’t let himself get greedy- he’ll check the winnings later, out of sight.

Second target. Someone a little different, just for a change of scenery, and because the pressure is off now that the first had gone well.

More guessing makes it funner. He tries a younger person.

Need to get an extrovert, probably, or someone so used to the city they don’t blink an eye at the jostling. A local, but not this neighbourhood. People are more confident the closer they are to home and Hongjoong’s aware of his chances at winning a fight. They’re not good.

At least he’s fast. In a fight, it might not get him anywhere, but being fast has its uses. Fast has gotten him out of scrapes before.

The target gets closer. They don’t have a bag, but worse, they don’t even have an overcoat, just a steely suit without a waistcoat. Forget screaming it, this kids got the words _rob me_ hanging in the sky above him in bright red letters. 

Maybe it’s because he’s feeling smug, but Hongjoong decides to use the same tactic. This time, his target isn’t that much taller than him, so the rebound won’t be that bad, and his hand only needs to reach into the jacket for a second as they fumble and the guy gets over his shock. Should be easy. Should go well.

Except that as soon as they separate and Hongjoong thinks he’s got him, the guy grabs him. Two hands ball in the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, and Hongjoong curses very loudly in his head as he meets the guy’s dark eyes and sees only anger inside them.

“Give it,” the guy growls, and Hongjoong shrinks into himself, his eyes widening, trying to lean out of the guy's grip.

“What are you talking about?”

The guy’s grip tightens. Hongjoong tries to whimper convincingly. “Whatever you took, punk, give it back.”

Well, guess that didn’t work.

“I didn’t take anything,” he says, finding that breathy mixture of fear and defensiveness he’d perfected- even perfected, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, and as the guy doesn’t let go, and the look in his eyes doesn't change, Hongjoong’s pretty aware what way it's gonna go this time.

“You won’t mind if I check myself, then?”

Hongjoong tries to shake out of the hold even though he knows he won’t be able too. He could take his arms out of the jacket quickly enough to escape that way, he thinks, but the situation isn’t quite bad enough to justify the loss of it.

“Get off me, pervert.”

Oh, he’s so fucked. If the guy doesn’t end him right now for that, he’s definitely going to hell for it later. 

The guy's eyes flash, but he doesn’t rise to it. “Do I need to get the police involved, or are you just gonna give it back?” 

Shit. If he gives it back now, will he really be able to just walk away from this? 

“Excuse me!”

Hongjoong’s eyes fly to the owner of the new voice, half-jogging up to them. The guy holding his jacket turns too, but doesn’t let go.

“I think you dropped this,” the new guy is saying. He’s probably Hongjoong’s age, or maybe he looks ridiculously young for his age or something, because this is the quickest evaluation Hongjoong has ever done in his life. It only takes a glance to know. This guy’s got _money_.

He’s also holding out a wallet identical to the one now stuffed inside Hongjoong’s back pocket with a pleasant smile.

Hongjoong’s target spares him a very irritated glance before dropping him, and Hongjoong smothers his confusion and pulls up a relieved, grateful expression as his feet hit the asphalt again. The wallet is snatched none too gently out of his saviour’s hand, and without a thanks the target stalks back down the street, making sure to walk almost straight into Hongjoong on his way past, knocking his shoulder.

Which leaves Hongjoong with the guy who just saved him from a night behind bars, at best.

He surveys him again, though he’d already taken in every detail. Must be smart as well as rich, Hongjoong thinks, because his clothes aren’t the typical rich display of steel suits and satchels. His jacket’s tailored, very obviously pulled in at the waist, a dark plaid thing with buttons down both lapels and an actual kerchief in the breast pocket. There’s a scarf elegantly knotted at his neck, sitting atop a pressed white shirt and black waistcoat. The edges of a suit blazer the same blacker-than-black shade are just visible as he puts his hands in his coat pockets and tips his head, amused at Hongjoong’s staring.

More bundled up than most of the other rich suckers around him, and younger, too. 

“If you’re wondering where I keep my wallet, I hate to disappoint you,” he says, his voice deep and warm and definitely amused. “I just gave it to the gentleman about to knock your teeth out.” He gestures with a pocketed hand down the street where the original target has disappeared, his jacket shifting.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s the same make as the one currently stuffed under your jacket, and it’ll take him a while to realise it isn’t actually his.”

Huh. “I can’t decide if that’s clever or stupid.”

The dark haired boy laughs. His hair is long, styled away from his face in an elegant arch Hongjoong would probably think ridiculously pretentious if the guy didn’t actually manage to pull it off.

“Clever,” the boy answers, “because I took my card out of mine and he was definitely carrying more cash than I was.” He holds out his hand, palm up, just as his words start to register in Hongjoong’s mind.

Damn. It’s the first time he’s been played like this. It’s so annoying it’s almost funny, which is why, he supposes, he gives in and passes the second wallet over. He’s still got the first. And he guesses he should thank the guy somehow.

The guy takes the wallet with a smile and flicks through it. He laughs at the amount of bills shoved inside, and then takes the guy’s ID out and shoves it in an inside pocket. 

He then passes Hongjoong almost all of the cash.

When Hongjoong hesitates, he raises a brow.

“You don’t want it? After all that effort?”

He accepts it, slowly. The other boy smiles and draws a few little squares of cardboard out of his overcoat. He’s clearly not the type to keep things in places so easily reached, but Hongjoong understands as he starts sorting them into the pockets of the wallet. He must have taken them from his own before he’d handed it over, hastily shoving them in whatever pocket was easiest to reach.

One of them’s a photo, but the guy’s holding the wallet at an angle so Hongjoong can’t see any more than that. What he does glimpse, however, is the black ink printed atop a business card also being sorted into the wallet. And he’s pretty sure this guy’s a lawyer.

Christ, he’s so out of his depth.

“The rain should start soon,” the guy’s saying. “D’you have somewhere to go?” Hongjoong nods. “Is it very far away?”

“You seem smart enough to know I’m not going to give you any hints to my address.”

“So you have a house?” Is the guy’s immediate reply. Hongjoong rolls his eyes at the guy’s self-satisfied grin. “Alright. I won't ask.” 

He raises his other hand, and Hongjoong eyes the black umbrella being held out to him.

“Are you being serious?”

The guy nods. “Take it.”

Hongjoong doesn’t. The first drop of rain hits his head and he scoffs. “What are you, my guardian angel?” 

“Seonghwa,” the guy smiles. Hongjoong stares at him. “My name.”

“Right, well…” Hongjoong hits the umbrella away from him and pulls up his hood, shoving his hands in his pockets. Notes crinkle under his fingers. He makes sure to smile. “Thanks, Seonghwa.” 

He can feel the guy’s eyes on him as he turns and walks back down the street, all the way until he rounds a corner and is out of his sight.

Hongjoong sighs. Weird day.


	2. Routine

Seonghwa has a routine. Everyday it’s the same, and he falls into it always when he opens his eyes, feeling the new light of the morning on his skin, letting only a beat or two of silence pull him from sleep before getting out of bed. He showers, he gets dressed, he sits at his kitchen table with a coffee. His apartment is light and airy and empty, always empty, except for his quiet presence. He doesn’t mind the quiet.

He’s gotten very good at making coffee, though he only makes one kind. Anything other than a cappuccino and he’s hopeless, but Seonghwa doesn’t mind honing one skill to perfection and sticking to it. Everything a measured routine, again and again and again. Sometimes he can’t remember where one day ends and another begins.

He’s not entirely sure why he still reads the newspaper. It’s waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting silently at the head of the table because that’s always where Seonghwa sits, and he thumbs through it with his coffee, for something to do with his hands, and something to do with his mind. By the time he’s finished his coffee, he’ll wonder why he bothered to read it. Death and gossip and nothing of interest. He always reads the next one, though.

The only unexpected thing in his routine is San. He shows up at the same time, always, so they can drive to work together, but other than the time of his arrival- which is hardly consistent through and through- there’s nothing predictable about him. Some days he’ll badger, annoyed at the cyclical routines and unbearable tidiness of Seonghwa’s apartment, Seonghwa’s life. But other times he’s warm, and kind, and full of energy despite the early hour. He makes Seonghwa feel older than he is. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

The elevator dings, and San steps out. Seonghwa smiles, in the middle of washing his mug with his back to the room, feeling San look around for him and then find him, eyes settling on his back.

“You know,” the younger boy’s saying as his heels click across the apartment floor, “if you left that one in the sink, it would still be there for you when you get back.”

It’s not the first time he’s said some variation of this, but Seonghwa just chuckles, his hand finding the dish towel folded neatly on the rack against the wall without glancing at it.

San throws himself into a chair at the kitchen table and thrums a happy beat on the tabletop.

“Got any coffee for me?” he asks.

Without turning around, Seonghwa reminds him, “We have a meeting in thirty minutes.”

“Client just cancelled.”

Seonghwa pauses with his hand halfway to the cupboard he’d just opened, mug in the air. He turns, and San smiles at him, allowing Seonghwa’s eyes to pass over his face and realise he isn’t joking.

Seonghwa returns the mug to its place and finds another one, the one he always gives to San, despite the other boy’s protesting. “Did they give any reason?”

San lifts a shoulder in something too lazy to be called a shrug as Seonghwa presses a button and the coffee machine whirls back to life.

“Had a change of heart. They have no need of us anymore, apparently.”

Seonghwa sighs and leans against the kitchen counter. Their client had seemed eager to go through with the divorce last time he’d seen him. It’s an annoyingly familiar problem, though, and both of them are used to it by now. 

“I hope everything works out alright for them,” Seonghwa says quietly, and San rolls his eyes.

“Of course you do.” He accepts the coffee Seonghwa slides over the table to him, and watches as the older boy sits awkwardly on one of the empty chairs. San had very purposefully taken the seat at the head of the table. 

“I know you want what’s best for them too, San.”

“Sure I do,” San agrees, spreading his hands palm-up on the table, “I’m just not sure _settling_ is what’s best for them.”

Here we go, Seonghwa thinks.

“It’s too early for this.”

San gives him a knowing smile that’s too sharp to be accepting. “That’s what you always say.”

“Well, this is me saying it again.”

San relents, because he’s sharp and blunt and insensitive but he isn’t actually trying to hurt him. 

“Is there something else to talk about? When I called last night you hadn’t gotten home yet.”

Seonghwa frowns for a moment before the image of a young boy in a brown jacket resurfaces, and he remembers.

“Oh. That.”

San listens patiently as he recounts the story, going into every little detail he can remember, like the kid’s fingerless gloves and the way he’d smiled as he’d rejected the umbrella, like an imp or goblin or something equally sharp and mischievous, and San laughs when Seonghwa realises the kid had subconsciously reminded him of San and that maybe that’s why he’d acted like he had.

San doesn’t seem convinced, though. “As if you haven’t done that kind of thing a hundred times before,” he sighs.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re too kind, Seong.” He shakes his head, disrupting the dark hair he’d recently streaked through with red, and squinting as a lock falls into one eye. “Lost causes just-” he clasps his hands together suddenly, interlocking his fingers “-flock to you.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. He looked like he needed the help.”

“You’re ridiculous,” San breaths, a little in awe. Seonghwa shakes his head, and scopes his friend’s empty mug from the table.

“Come on,” Seonghwa prompts, already scrubbing the mug clean under water hot enough to turn his skin pink. “We’ve still got work to do today.”

San groans, but reluctantly gets to his feet. 

Seonghwa drives. He keeps up the pretense that he’s just never letting San drive his car, but they both know that’s not the real reason. Seonghwa isn’t materialistic. 

It does mean, however, that San has the perfect opportunity to talk and talk and talk and know Seonghwa can’t escape the conversation. And _boy_ can San talk.

His favourite topic of conversation these days is the one thing Seonghwa _really_ can’t stand. He can sense San’s about to bring it up again, as they pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“Wooyoung was telling me about the new intern,” San says, and Seonghwa groans. He’s not even trying to be subtle anymore, just jumping straight to the point. “You know, the tall one with the big features? Looks a little like a Disney prince?”

“Yunho,” Seonghwa says. He knows San’s going to latch onto the fact that he’s remembered his name, but it feels weird talking about him without it, and he’s been trying to teach San out of his bad habit of forgetting names ever since they started working together.

“Come on,” San smiles, “I described him as a Disney prince and you immediately knew who I was talking about?”

“There’s only one new intern, San,” Seonghwa sighs.

They stop at a light and San hits him on the arm. “Whatever, you’ve noticed him. Wooyoung said he seems easy to get close to. I could even befriend him first and set the two of you up that way?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“When’s the last time you-”

“Do I really need to explain this again?” Seonghwa asks, voice as close to a yell as if ever gets, and San huffs and sits back. “I’m fine on my own. I don’t need anyone coming in and, and _messing up my life,_ so just-”

“You’re ridiculous,” San grumbles.

They take off again, Seonghwa pulling away from the red light and autopilot taking over, carrying them down the route he’d had memorised for years. He dreams of this drive, sometimes, he’s so used to it.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he says, after the stony silence has started to dissipate, “so...You can tell Wooyoung to leave the poor new boy alone.” He sees San shake his head in his peripheral, and adds: “He’s too young for me anyway.”

“He is not! He’s only a year younger than you, he just doesn’t act like a ninety year old widower, like you do.”

“I’m his boss, San.”

San rests his forehead on the dashboard. “I’m the only person you know that _isn’t_ your employee. Your pool’s pretty limited that way.”

Seonghwa hits him gently on the shoulder so he sits straighter. “Did I or did I not ask you to stop trying to set me up?”

“You did, but that doesn’t mean I agreed to it.”

An upbeat song Seonghwa has heard a hundred times starts playing on the radio and San turns it off, as if he thinks it’d change the atmosphere before he’s finished arguing.

Seonghwa clicks his tongue. 

“How many divorce cases do we get a week, San?” It’s the one argument he’s clung to ever since San had started not-so-subtly mentioning all of their coworkers to him, and it works better than all the other things he’s said so far.

“So fucking many,” San grumbles. “I’m not denying that, I just think that maybe a little experience would help you-”

“ _Don’t_ try that again,” Seonghwa warns. San’s a good lawyer, one of the best Seonghwa knows, but they have a strict ‘no negotiation’ rule outside of courtroom settings, and he can feel San try and twist his words against him, and he hates it. “This isn’t about work, and you know it.”

San groans, but gives up, sensing that he’s stepped too far. “Alright, alright. It was worth a try.” They pull into the parking lot outside of their building, Seonghwa’s parking space empty as it always is, waiting on them.

“Just know that if you change your mind, I’m here for you.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Great,” he mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

San stumbles out after him as Seonghwa slams the driver’s seat closed and locks the car.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells Seonghwa, seeing the older boy glance at him and purse his lips. “I wasn’t trying to badger you.”

“Right,” Seonghwa says, “and you didn’t hire the new receptionist because he’s pretty, either.”

San just rolled his eyes. “Wooyoung is not _pretty_ , Seong, he’s hot, and if you can’t understand the difference you're even worse off than I thought. Plus he’s more than qualified for the job, so quit shaming me.”

Seonghwa gives him the grin he saves for only the most difficult clients, honeyed and saccharine and, as San knows, very insincere. “I’ll quit shaming you when you stop trying to set me up with anyone with a pulse, San.”

“Guess I’ll just have to get used to it, then.”


	3. The Same Old Song

“There’s no way that guy was actually a lawyer.”

Mingi, over their rickety kitchen-dining room table, had listened to the entire story with a surprising amount of patience, considering how early it is. 

“I’m telling you, Mingi, I saw his business card. It was the real deal too, one of the laminated types with the gold foil all the best firms use.”

A deep frown draws Mingi’s features down. “Why would a lawyer help you steal a wallet, Joong?”

Hongjoong shrugs. “Must have a saviour complex or something. He gave me most of the spoils, in the end.”

Mingi hums noncommittally and shoves his breakfast away. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t get going,” he says, and Hongjoong checks his phone screen and curses. He’d gotten too invested in recapping the night before that he’d lost track of time, and his class starts in a quarter of an hour.

Their apartment's close to school- the only reason they rent it, really- so they manage to make it on time, though Yeosang yelps as they sprint past the bench he’s waiting on and has to skate to catch up.

“What’s up with you?” Yeosang whispers, as they make it to their class and collapse into their seats at the back.

“Had a weird night,” Hongjoong whispers back, just as their professor saunters to the front of the room. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

They don’t see Mingi much during school hours, because he’s in none of their classes, and they all have different majors, so Hongjoong only sees Yeosang in his math classes. When they actually do get time to talk, the sun’s already setting, and Mingi’s half asleep on one of the benches outside their building.

Yeosang offers to treat them to a meal, even though they all know Hongjoong will refuse. They go out anyway, though, even if it is just to the cheap taco place down the block, and Yeosang is instantly suspicious.

“D’you get some money coming in last night?” he asks after their order’s been taken, smiling in that knowing way of his. 

Hongjoong smiles innocently, widening his eyes and acting coy. “Maybe.”

“Just be careful not to get caught and thrown in jail before finals,” Yeosang reminds him. “If you’re behind bars I’ll have no one to cheat from, so you better watch yourself.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Relax, I just charmed a few pockets.”

Mingi shushes them, looking around at the dingy tables. Both of them roll their eyes this time.

“Don’t be such a stick,” Yeosang mutters.

“No one’s paying us any attention,” Hongjoong adds. “And even if they were, no one in a place like this would care.”

Mingi shakes his head. “How long d’you think you’re actually gonna be able to keep this up, Joong?” he asks, not for the first time, and a flicker of anger lights behind Hongjoong’s eyes.

“You got any better ideas? Maybe an inheritance fund I don’t know about locked away somewhere? No?” Mingi just glares at him. “Well then, until we manage to sucker someone into giving us a job that pays, I’m gonna keep paying for our rent how I see fit, yeah?”

Mingi opens his mouth to argue, but their food comes, and when they’re all done waiting for their server to disappear, Yeosang beats him to it.

“Let’s not do this tonight, alright? We all know how it goes by now, anyway.” 

Hongjoong supposes he’s right. It’s the same old song they’re always singing. Mingi drops it too, because he must know how boring this gets for all of them, when they argue and argue and nothing changes. 

It’s not like Mingi’s really _against_ the things Hongjoong does. He’s hardly an innocent bystander. He just voices his concerns every now and again when Hongjoong brings back a few more notes than necessary, because he’s never been as much of a risk taker, and perhaps he _is_ a little more sincere, and honest, and good and all those things Hongjoong would usually roll his eyes at. All the things Hongjoong has given up trying to be.

Mingi relies on the money though, same as Hongjoong, so his protests never last that long, just until the fridge empties again and their rent rises. Which it’s been doing annoyingly frequently, recently. Hongjoong rues the day he ever thought it wise to sign a contract for a shady two room apartment that had seemed too cheap to be real. It irritates him, more than the money, that he actually fell for it, and now they’re saddled with the worst landlord in history and a rising demand for bills Hongjoong barely manages to keep on top of.

At the end of the week, the rates rise again. The slip their landlord had passed through their door, scuttling off before Hongjoong can call him out on it, is crumpled in the jacket of his pocket and burns a hole there throughout his classes, and when Yeosang turns to him outside in the chilled air he finds he’s been ripping it to shards in his pocket, and takes his hand away.

“Something wrong?” Yeosang’s asking.

Hongjoong’s a good liar, when he wants to be. He shakes his head, throwing up a surprised expression as if confused as to why Yeosang would even ask him that, and his friend just nods, accepting it.

“I need to stop by my brother’s place before I get the train,” Yeosang continues. “Walk with me?”

Yeosang’s the kind of student who stays in campus accommodation by choice, and not necessity- i.e, he’s out of his goddamn mind, but rich enough to afford one of the nicer kinds of apartment close to campus. He visits home every weekend and takes the train every time. Hongjoong could only imagine how he’d be living, if he had Yeosang’s funds at hand. 

“Sure.”

The walk might distract him from the bill in his pocket, and stall for a while before he meets up with Mingi, because the other boy doesn’t know that the rates have increased again and this is definitely going to rekindle their usual argument when Hongjoong eventually works up the nerve to tell him.

He usually hates walking around the city with Yeosang. Don’t get him wrong, they’re friends, and he enjoys the time they spend together, but walking with Yeosang is just... _different_ , to walking alone. People notice them. Hongjoong doesn’t like people looking his way. He isn’t used to it. It’s harder to watch people when they’re already watching you.

Yeosang, right now though, is pulling on a hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap, hiding most of his face, and his clothes are as casual as Hongjoong can remember him wearing, so it shouldn’t be a problem today. He’s brought his board, too, which means Hongjoong will have to try to keep up with him. Be quick, pay attention. 

He forgets about the bill for a while.

That is, until they reach their destination. 

Hongjoong has never met Yeosang’s brother, but he’d heard the stories countless times. Drunk Yeosang is very talkative, and his favourite topic of conversation seems to be his perfect older brother, his parent’s favourite, the angel who’s never made a mistake in his entire life and casts a shadow Yeosang is painfully aware of with every decision he makes. 

This is pretty much exactly where Hongjoong had expected someone like that to live.

It’s a hotel, almost in the centre of the city, one of those huge, towering buildings with a tinted glass exterior that’s only half trying to hide the expanse of white marble inside.

“I’ll let you guess which floor he lives on,” Yeosang sighs, craning his neck up just as Hongjoong’s doing, trying to see the top.

“Penthouse?”

“Nothing less.”

Hongjoong snorts. “Must be nice.”

“Whatever. Stay here would you? I’ll only be a minute.”

Hongjoong nods, resting the sole of one boot on top of Yeosang’s skateboard to stop it rolling away and watching as Yeosang strides over to one of the elevators. He turns his back, looking out at the street instead. 

Yeosang’s stepping back onto the asphalt with a suitcase in record time. Hongjoong sees his stormy expression and laughs.

“That bad?”

“That’s the worst part,” Yeosang groans, “no! He’s so much nicer than I am.”

Hongjoong glances back up at the penthouse apartment with a frown. “ _Nice_?”

It’s hard to believe.

“The guy’s never said a bad word about anyone ever, I can guarantee it.”

Hongjoong hums, something in his tone seeming to disagree even before he says: “Everyone’s got a mean side.”

Yeosang shakes his head. “Not my brother,” he sighs, a note of reluctant fondness behind his words.

Hongjoong walks him to the train station, though it’s already starting to rain again. Yeosang doesn’t let him see him off, insisting he should go home before the train gets there, and though Hongjoong _really_ doesn’t want to face Mingi yet, he also really doesn’t want to watch Yeosang in a warm train carriage getting further and further away from him and have to think about the huge manor house waiting patiently for his arrival. Hongjoong’s never had that. He never _will_ have that.

What he _does_ have is a tiny flat in the middle of the city, close enough to the school he’d somehow managed to get into to justify how the water’s never hot and the heater’s always switched too high and there’s not enough room for someone as big as Mingi to be living with him. And the bill’s still in his jacket. They have a week, and not enough money for their rent.

Mingi doesn’t take it well, when Hongjoong tells him the plan.

“You only just got back, Joong, don’t be stupid.”

Hongjoong throws the bill to the table with a slap and reaches for a scarf hanging by the door. “How else are we going to be able to keep this apartment? We don’t have the money, Mingi. No one’s going to give it to us.” The scarf is too tight around his neck, too warm, and he throws it away just as quickly as he’d reached for it, with a frustrated grumble. “The only way to get what you want is to take it. So if I just go _get_ the money-” 

“And when you’re behind bars and I have to deal with this myself?” Mingi asks, gesturing to the notice with an open hand. “What happens then?" Hongjoong stares at him, buffering, and Mingi goes on. "You do realise that’s what you’re risking, right? Leaving me alone?”

Hongjoong stomachs the guilt that rushes up his throat before he can lose his resolve. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’re never careful,” Mingi grumbles. “You’re just good enough not to get caught. That can’t last forever.”

He’s right, so Hongjoong doesn’t argue. The fight’s gone out of them both, and when he steps towards the door, already pulling up his hood, Mingi lets him go.

A different street, a few blocks over from the neighbourhood he’d tried at the start of the week. No similar faces, different tactics. He’s not bumping any shoulders this time. 

He’s too late for the rush hour, so the people walking past him are slower, too slow for the usual method. He pulls his hood further over his face and leans against the side of a shop corner, thinking. 

Yeosang would have given him the cash. Probably wouldn’t have even asked what it was for. But he’s far away now, outside of the city, and even if he’d been here Hongjoong wouldn’t have asked. He would rather steal than beg. He knows it’s wrong, but that’s how it is. That's how _he_ is.

There aren’t any houses on this block. Just shopfronts, a few ATMs Hongjoong pays no attention too, and some blue metal benches, the double-sided kind with two pairs of chairs connected back to back, one side facing the road, the other facing the shops. There, on one of the benches, a young woman sits under a transparent umbrella, talking on the phone. It’s the smile that seals the deal- she’s too happy talking to whoever’s on the other end of the line to pay him much attention. 

Hongjoong crosses quickly from the shop corner onto the bench behind her, so their backs are to each other, and he’s facing the street. There’s an added risk of one of the taxi’s spotting him and being vigilant enough to stop and yell, but he’ll just have to take his chances. He’s pulled off this kind of trick before.

The handbag under the bench is expensive, one of the shiny new models he’d only seen in shop windows, tucked away from the rain. It has an over-the-shoulder handle, a long band of leather, perfect for this type of job.

Hongjoong pulls his phone from his pocket and puts it to his ear. The girl's speaking so loud in her happiness and above the rain pattering against her umbrella that when Hongjoong starts saying whatever nonsense comes to mind, she doesn’t move, still focused on her own conversation. That’s good. She’ll suspect him less- if she’s even spotted him- if she thinks he’s distracted. 

Slowly, he reaches one leg back, making sure to keep up his one-sided conversation, laughing at an imaginary joke. The toe of his boot finds the side of the handbag, and after a moment’s struggle, he manages to tip it. He draws his leg away, just in case, but she hadn’t noticed the noise of it hitting the stone, so he continues, feeling around for the strap. He stills when he finds it. He starts to drag it closer.

And someone sits in the empty seat beside him.

“Whoever you’re talking to seems awfully funny,” a deep voice says. Hongjoong turns and sees a familiar face smiling at him, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

Hongjoong draws his leg back out from under the bench. 

“Great.”

“Not pleased to see me?” the other boy grins. “Seemed like you were about to get into another misunderstanding I could help take care of.”

“Go fuck yourself, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows rise towards his hairline. “Good with names, are you? I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“It’s rare I meet anyone that’s such a pain in the ass,” Hongjoong answers wryly.

Seonghwa looks different today, perhaps because of the later hour. He’s wearing the same jacket, the dark plaid, tailored thing Hongjoong had noticed before, but under it is a hooded sweatshirt in lieu of his umbrella. It’s a soft grey, the hood pulled over his hair, and under it Seonghwa looks younger, his hair pushed over his face on one side, almost hiding his eye in lazy black waves. 

“You haven’t been following me, have you?”

“I don’t even know your name,” Seonghwa reminds him. “It would be more reasonable to assume _you_ were the one following _me_.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He catches the side of Seonghwa’s smile as the other boy turns to watch the traffic speed past them. “I was just going to dinner. Come with me. We can eat together.”

“Not interested.”

The bluntness of Hongjoong’s voice is enough to redirect Seonghwa’s attention, and the dark haired boy looks over at him with a half-grin.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant if you’re hungry, I can pay. No need for the... other methods you seem to favour.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Seonghwa’s eyes search his expression, and he sighs. “So you’re fine with taking other people’s money, but won’t accept mine when I offer it?”

“That about sums it up, yeah, now if you’ll excuse me-”

Seonghwa throws his arm out, stopping him from getting up. “Wait.” Hongjoong huffs, and falls back onto the bench. “You really won't accept anything?”

Hongjoong studies him with a furrowed brow, hands shoved in his pockets. Eventually, he asks: “What kind of lawyer are you? Property?”

If Seonghwa’s surprised at the question, he does a very impressive job of hiding it. “No.” A denial, but not a correction, like he doesn't want to give Hongjoong any more information about himself. Maybe he's not really as trusting as he's trying to appear.

Hongjoong hums. “Shame.”

Before the other boy can stop him, Hongjoong’s on his feet, walking slowly away. Seonghwa waits until he’s out of sight before doubling over, peering under the bench. The handbag’s still there.


	4. Wondering

Wake up. 

One beat of his pulse in his ears. Two. 

Shower. 

Coffee. 

San.

The ride to work is silent this time, but only because of him. San has picked up on the rain cloud hanging over his head, and holds his tongue, until they’re pulling into their usual parking space and Seonghwa’s drawing up a more neutral expression, and the doors swing shut behind them.

“What’s the matter with you?” San asks him after their second meeting of the day, when they’ve escaped to their shared office and Seonghwa’s halfway through a sandwich.

“What? Why would something be the matter?”

“You’ve been tugging at your collar every two seconds,” San monotones. 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

San raises a brow. “ _ Really _ ? You think I don’t know what the collar tug means by now?”

Seonghwa’s eyes never leave the file spread out before him as he shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

San studies him across the room. Everything’s the same, of course, Seonghwa’s desk pristine, everything in its place, his hair swept away from his face, his shirt pressed to perfection. But he reaches up to pull his collar away from his skin before he can help himself, hand stilling in the air as he realises what he’s doing, and San laughs triumphantly.

Seonghwa sighs.

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be fidgeting.” He carries his iced coffee over to Seonghwa’s desk and perches on the edge. “Spill. What’s gotten you so distracted?”

There’s no getting out of it. San’s ridiculously persistent, and knows just how to annoy him, so Seonghwa gives up, sinking into the leather of his desk chair, leaning back.

“I met the boy again last night. The one I told you.”

It takes a moment for San to remember, but when he does his eyes go wide. 

“The thief?” Seonghwa nods. “Where? Did he try to take anything?”

“From me? No. I saw him on my way to dinner with Jongho last night, trying to slip someone’s handbag.”

San whistles. “Damn. Twice in one week?”

“At least. Who knows how many times he’s tried it when I haven’t spotted him.”

There’s a moment where San processes this, and then an idea comes to him, and he crosses his arms. “You’ve not gotten yourself a stalker, have you?”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes at his protectiveness. “I doubt it,” he says drily. “He didn’t seem very interested.”

San goes to nod, and then stops. He narrows his eyes, and Seonghwa watches as the corners of his lips upturn, ever so slightly. 

“ _ Interested, _ ” he repeats, that artful grin starting to take over his face. Seonghwa’s mind immediately pulls up the image of the thief smiling, the first time they’d met, as he’d walked away, his grin the same breed of impish cunning as San’s. 

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“I don’t know, Seong,” San laughs, “I just thought it was funny how you phrased that. Interested in you.” His eyes flicker between Seonghwa’s, who shakes his head and looks away, annoyed. “D’you  _ want _ him to be interested in you?”

“I just meant he was abrasive,” Seonghwa corrects. “Blunt.”

“And that annoyed you, did it?”

Seonghwa shrugs as if the answer to that should be obvious, and really it would be, if he were anyone else. San had seen Seonghwa handle so many angry clients and defendants by now that he knows very well Seonghwa’s tolerance for rudeness. He’s usually untouchable.

San’s grin grows into it’s widest, wickedest form. He knew there was something strange about this.

“Which one is he?” Eyes lift up to his in confusion, and Seonghwa’s surprise flickers quickly across his face when he recognises San’s smile. “Which one is he,” he repeats, “hot or pretty?”

Seonghwa stares at him. “What?”

San uncrosses his arms and leans back on his hands. “I want to know which one you like, Seong.”

“I never said I liked him,” Seonghwa scoffs. “Did you miss the part when I mentioned he’s been robbing someone both times we’ve met?”

His protest does nothing to dissuade San, it seems, because he just grins down at him. “Is this the part where you tell me you  _ didn’t _ help him this time?”

_“Yes,_ OK?,” Seonghwa hisses. “I did. I stopped him. Obviously.”

“So he wouldn’t get caught,” San prompts, his gaze too deep for Seonghwa’s liking.

He hesitates, just barely, and San’s mouth drops open, the corners still pulled up in amusement.

“I  _ knew _ it,” he cries, hitting Seonghwa jovially on the arm. “I knew there was something going on there.”

“Whatever.”

It’s the weakest thing he could say, and San laughs. “Come on then, tell me.” He sets his coffee aside, forgetting it in his excitement, and leans forward. “What’s he like?”

Seonghwa’s eyes lift to the ceiling. “I know literally nothing about this boy except that he’s a criminal.”

“You said you’d spoken to him, though, right?” Seonghwa nods, reluctantly. “Well, what’s his name?”

He’d meant to ask for it, but the boy had wandered off so suddenly that he’d forgotten, so-

“No idea.”

Taking this in his stride- if anything, he looks more enthused than before- San swings his legs, thinking, and asks: “Then what does he look like? Start there.” From the look in his eye, Seonghwa already knows where this is going, but he still feels a spike of annoyance when San actually voices the question. “Pretty or hot?”

“I’ve told you before how unprofessional that language-”

“Just answer the question, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa can’t believe they’re talking about this. He hadn’t even realised he’d been thinking like this until San had pointed it out, and now he’s questioning whether he really  _ had _ been interested in the boy. It’d be ridiculous. Stupid.

Seonghwa sighs. 

“Is there a ‘both’ option?”

Whatever San had planned to say in response is cut off by a breathy laugh. “You’re in deeper than I thought, Seong. Wow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. So I noticed he’s attractive. That doesn’t have to mean anything.”

It’s almost pitying, the look San gives him. Like Seonghwa’s so far off the mark he couldn’t even begin to explain it to him.

“Sure, Seong,” he says quietly. “Sure.”

They’ve been together too long for Seonghwa to miss the disbelief, and he shakes his head as he shoos the other boy off of his desk and pulls a wad of paper closer. 

“It’s not as if I’ll ever see him again,” he reasons. “He’s just someone I crossed paths with once or twice and can forget about, now.”

And he means it. 

So he’d been thinking about the boy. A few times he’d wondered what he was doing, whether he was out prowling a street again, slipping wallets, what he did when he wasn’t charming pockets. But they’re from different worlds. He’d helped the kid out, once or twice, but it ended there. Pretty doesn’t make up for immoral. They’re different people.

San, of course, has latched onto the idea and won’t believe him if he denies it.

“I can’t believe after all those blind dates I tried to set up for you the one person you take any notice of is a nameless street thief you’ll never see again.”

Seonghwa throws his empty water bottle at him, and San ducks, straightening up with his mouth already open to say something when the door to their office swings open, and they both look up to see Wooyoung looking startled.

“Yes?” Seonghwa asks, immediately dropping his irritated expression as if nothing had happened.

“San’s one o’clock is here. I left them waiting in the conference room.”

Ignoring Seonghwa’s satisfied smile, San scopes up his papers and sends Wooyoung away. 

“We’re not finished talking about this,” he says, just before the door swings shut behind him, leaving no time for Seonghwa to argue.

In the empty office, Seonghwa sits back, and closes his eyes.


	5. Just For The Night

Yeosang’s train pulls into the station just after eleven that Sunday night, giving him a few hours of freedom in the city before classes start the next day. He does this every weekend- disappearing on the Friday, popping back up on Sunday, already missing his friends and saddled with a suitcase far heavier than it had been on the way home, courtesy of his parents, who are always certain he isn’t dressing warmly enough for the city nights, doesn’t have enough tech to keep him entertained, doesn’t have enough money for food. Yeosang never opposes, of course.

Most nights Hongjoong and Mingi invite him over, because their apartment’s closer to the train station than the fancy college accommodation he rents, and they figure he can slum it with them for one night instead of walking through the city for a while longer, but tonight is different. As soon as his train stops moving he can see them there, waiting for him on one of the dirty station benches, bags at their feet. One look at their expressions is enough for Yeosang’s stomach to plummet to his toes, and he grabs his case from the overhead hanger and rushes from the train as fast as he can.

Only Mingi looks up at him when he gets there. Hongjoong’s doubled over, his forearms resting on his knees, gaze stuck stubbornly on the stone under his feet. His knuckles are bleeding.

“What happened?”

Mingi throws a reluctant glance at Hongjoong before he answers, as if he’s afraid the other boy will start yelling before he gets the chance to explain.

“Rent went up when you were away. We got kicked out.”

“Just because you couldn’t pay? He couldn’t give you another couple of days?”

Mingi winces. “He might have-” he starts, throwing a pointed look to Hongjoong, who still hasn’t said anything.

Yeosang hangs his head, sighing. “What did you do, Joong?”

A muscle jumps in Hongjoong jaw as he looks up, finally. “He would have kicked us out anyway,” he says quietly. “We all knew it couldn’t last. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“We figured our gracious and most selfless friend would let us room with him for the night?” Mingi says quickly, his words slurring with the need to speak fast and distract Yeosang’s attention from Hongjoong before he can ask any more. “My brother’s still out of town until tomorrow, so it’d only be for one night…”

Yeosang groans, dropping his suitcase with a thud. “Are you being serious?”

“It’d only be one night!”

“I don’t live in an apartment, dumbass, I’m in student dorms, which means _one_ _room_ , one bed between the three of us.”

“Hongjoong can sleep on the floor,” Mingi offers. “We won’t make trouble.”

“I’ve known you both way too long to be suckered that easy, Mingi.”

“Sang.” It’s Hongjoong’s voice, still quiet and dull in that way it gets after he’s exploded and burnt up all of his energy. 

Yeosang wonders how bad it must have been. Hongjoong’s voice is spent, and his knuckles are torn and scarlet. They’d been keeping up with the ridiculous rates for months, and the only altercations they’d gotten into with the guy billing them had resulted in their water being cut off, so even Hongjoong had tried to keep his head down and just accept it. Seems like he’s finally ran out of patience.

“We really don’t have anywhere else to go, bud.”

Hongjoong doesn’t ask. He never asks to borrow notes when he gets sick and misses classes, he doesn’t accept any of the cash Yeosang willingly offers every now and then, he doesn’t let Yeosang take care of the bill when they eat out. Asking’s the same as begging, in Hongjoong’s mind, and Yeosang’s pretty sure this is the first time in the nine years they’ve known each other that Hongjoong has ever asked him for anything.

He can feel himself start to slip closer to agreement when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He takes it out, to distract himself from the way Mingi’s pretending not to watch Hongjoong from the corner of his eye and how Hongjoong’s gritting his teeth, still looking up at Yeosang for an answer.

He has two new messages, just like he always does on Sundays, when his train pulls into the station. His brother’s nothing if not predictable.

And that’s when the idea comes together.

“You know what,” he says, already typing a reply, eyes never leaving his screen, “I’ve got a better idea.”

Mingi squints at Yeosang’s smug smile and the phone he’s still staring down at. “You’re passing us over to someone else, aren’t you?”

“I'm passing you over to someone else.”

They’re silent the entire walk. Yeosang doesn’t explain where they’re going, just walks a little ahead of them, tapping on his phone, dragging his heavy suitcase behind him. Hongjoong would tell him how he’s making himself a far easier target, being distracted by his phone and clearly forgetting to keep his suitcase out of people’s way, but he’s not in the mood. He’s too in his head to even pay attention to where they’re going, much less the people around them.

It hadn’t been pretty.

He’d tried being reasonable this time, he really had, which was almost the worst part. He’d tried, and he’d failed anyway. Some people you couldn’t bargain with.

He’d almost got the money too. He’d swiped a few more wallets before the rent was due, and one or two more might have been enough to cover the new fees, but he’d fallen just short. He really should have known reasoning wouldn’t work, because it’s been months of rising rents now, and every time they’d refused or threatened or argued against it, their water had been cut, the power would mysteriously go out in their building, and always there was the threat of eviction dangled under their noses. Hongjoong had gone too far this time. He’d saw where the conversation was going, and he’d pushed anyway. 

At least the guy won’t sue him, he supposes. The contract they’d signed for rent had been shady at best, so at least now he knows he’d gotten some good punches in before they’d left. It doesn’t really do much to numb the anger or the hurt, as Mingi shoulders and drags all of their belongings around in little bags, but it's something. If you have to go, go fighting.

They stop, and Hongjoong pulls himself out of his thoughts enough to notice their surroundings. 

Mingi’s frowning, looking up at the building reaching for the sky before them and up and down the block. “Where  _ are _ we? This is a hotel?”

Hongjoong recognises it from the few times he’d trailed Yeosang here. He’d never been inside before.

“Your brother’s letting us stay?”

Yeosang smiles. “Told you he was a goody-two-shoes didn’t I?” He grabs one of Mingi’s bags and starts across the lobby, head held high. 

Hongjoong shoves Mingi after him, and they cross quickly through the marble as the elevator dings, just barely big enough to accommodate them and their luggage. Yeosang pulls a ring of keys from inside his jacket and slots the smallest, brightest gold key into the lock above the buttons, turning it, and the lift starts carrying them above the lobby.

Mingi gapes.

“Hey, your brother lives in the penthouse?” Yeosang nods in a way that has Hongjoong biting the inside of his cheek. So careless, as if he hadn’t even thought it was important enough to warrant a mention in their conversations, on the occasion Yeosang’s brother is brought up.

“Dude, we can’t stay here.”

Yeosang ignores Mingi’s whining the entire ride up, and then suddenly they’re stepping into an apartment, not even a hallway separating them from a wide, open planned living room and kitchen with white leather sofas and windows stretching from floor to ceiling with a view of the dark city below.

Mingi gasps so dramatically he dissolves into a coughing fit and Yeosang laughs, easily dropping their bags by the elevator doors as they close.

“Stay here and don’t break anything,” he tells them, and then crosses through the living room, passing the sofas and disappearing into a nook behind the kitchen. 

“Seong?”

Mingi’s nose is already pressed against the glass, looking down at the street lights and traffic. Hongjoong freezes.

“Seong, where are you?”

Yeosang reappears from around the kitchen wall and glances around them. Hongjoong meets his eye, and Yeosang is just about to ask what the hell’s going on with Hongjoong’s expression when the door set into the far wall swings open and Seonghwa steps through.

He spots Mingi first, who’s turning from the glass towards the sound of the door, and mild shock flashes across his expression before he glances around and sees Yeosang next to him.

“Hey bro,” Yeosang says, so cutely that it’s immediately very obvious that he hadn’t told his brother they were coming.

Seonghwa doesn’t reply immediately. He’s spotted Hongjoong, and he stares, his expression blank, the notebook he’s holding still held in the air, until he notices he’s gone still and his arm drops to his side.

“You didn’t tell me to expect company, Yeosang.”

Yeosang winces almost convincingly. “About that...They’re in a bit of a sticky situation right now, and they had nowhere else to go, so when you invited me over I thought maybe we could help them out a little. Just for tonight.”

“How very hospitable of you,” Seonghwa says, eyes still on Hongjoong.

Yeosang notices the stare and looks between them. Hongjoong’s returning the look, his arms crossed, his jaw stubbornly set. 

“Is...something going on that I should know?”

Seonghwa quirks a brow and doesn’t say anything. He raises his arms, palms open, a ‘go ahead’ gesture aimed at Hongjoong that’s difficult to decipher. If he’s angry, or amused, or confused, he doesn’t show it.

“Yeosang. Your brother’s umbrella guy.”

Yeosang frowns, not understanding, but Mingi’s mouth drops open.

“Guardian angel guy? The guy who saved you from getting your ass whooped?”

Hongjoong uncrosses his arms and gestures to Seonghwa with an exhausted, bitter kind of acceptance. “The one and only.”

Understanding registers on Yeosang’s face, and he turns to his brother. “You didn’t tell me you’d met one of my friends, Seong.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other.”

Mingi glances to Hongjoong and sees that stubborn expression he reserves only for teachers or other people’s parents who know his reputation. A challenge is so obviously written across his face that Mingi groans, bending to pick up the bag he’d dropped at his feet.

“Well, great. Nice to meet you, Yeosang’s brother. We’ll just be taking our bags and-”

Seonghwa raises a hand in the air. “No, you can stay.” 

Even Yeosang looks surprised. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, looking around at their odd little group in speechless confusion. 

“Ah-really?”

Seonghwa shrugs. “You said they had nowhere else to go. It’s late. I’ll get the spare room ready.”

He disappears through a door beside the one he’d just entered, the two doors in the far wall the only visible ones in the apartment, and it clicks softly shut behind him.

Mingi lets out an awed ‘wow’ sound, one long, breathy sound. “You weren’t kidding about the goody-two-shoes thing, huh?”

Yeosang smiles, stepping further into the living room and perching on one of the pristine white leather sofas. 

Hongjoong, no longer under Seonghwa’s curious gaze, let’s himself look around. 

It’s all one huge room, the elevator set into the wall behind them, a wall of windows to their left, the wall opposite the elevator painted an elegant, icy off-white, the polished wooden floor under their feet a warm, sandy colour that’s already trailing mud from their entrance. The kitchen has a long, white table with white chairs, and one wall juts out at the end of the row of countertops, the same wall Yeosang had wandered behind. Hongjoong wants to step closer and see where the nook leads, but he doesn’t let himself.

Seonghwa comes back from the spare room.

“If Yeosang had told me to expect more people, I would have been more prepared, but if you’re hungry I’m sure you can find something in the fridge. The bathroom's through that door-” he points to the door to the left of the guest room- “it should have spare toothbrushes and towels for you. If you need anything I’m sure Yeosang can tell you where it is.”

Yeosang has already lost interest, squinting down at his phone, and Mingi blinks owlishly, as Seonghwa stops speaking and his eyes stray to Hongjoong again.

“You’re just...going to let us stay here?”

Seonghwa ignores the question as if he hadn’t heard it and clasps his hands behind his back. “There’s only one spare bed, so one of you will have to get the sofa.”

Yeosang is the only one who hears the finality to his voice, and he kicks himself up from the sofa and grins around at them all. “Come on,” he says, “time for bed.”

Mingi grabs a few of their bags and follows, both of them squeezing through the door into the spare room. By some unspoken arrangement Seonghwa doesn’t understand, Hongjoong gets the sofa.

He doesn’t move, immediately. Seonghwa doesn’t either, both of them waiting for the other to speak.

It’s weird seeing him indoors, though Hongjoong supposes the luxury of the penthouse around him was exactly the kind of thing he’d expected from the beginning, when he’d eyed Seonghwa’s clothes and concluded one of his wristwatches was probably worth more than he’d make in a lifetime. Seonghwa’s dark hair isn’t styled away from his face, instead hanging in a slight wave down his forehead, and his pristine suit and dark jacket have been replaced by a pair of grey slacks and a white sweatshirt. He doesn’t really look less intimidating.

And he’s still refusing to say anything, and Hongjoong can feel himself start to get irritated at the long staring contest, so he decides he’s just going to have to break the tension himself. That doesn’t mean he has to be cordial, of course.

“Did you know I was friends with your brother?”

Seonghwa almost smiles, and Hongjoong grinds his teeth at the apparent self-satisfaction, stepping away from the windows for the first time since they’d spotted each other.

“How would I know that?” Seonghwa asks, as Hongjoong stops beside the sofa. “I don’t even know your name.” 

A thought occurs to him, and he sorts through the mental inventory he’d built of all the people Yeosang speaks about, remembering the most frequent mention. “Actually,” he muses, “it’s Hongjoong, right? The guy in his math classes.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, dropping onto the sofa and sprawling out, crossing his legs at the ankle on top of one of the armrests. “I am  _ not _ ‘the guy in his math classes’,” he says crossly, closing his eyes. “We’ve known each other for years.”

Seonghwa watches Hongjoong shift around, trying to get comfortable, his eyes still closed as if trying to pretend Seonghwa doesn’t exist.

“So you’re a student.”

“There something wrong with that?” Hongjoong asks immediately.

“What? Of course not. No. What do you study?”

“Engineering.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t known what to expect but somehow, that wasn’t it. Not that he’d ever considered the boy he’d met on the street could be going to the same university as his brother. 

“Do you enjoy it?”

Hongjoong cracks his eyes open enough to squint up at Seonghwa. “Do I  _ look _ like someone who’d enjoy fondling wires all day?”

“I don’t actually think that’s what Engineers do.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “It had the highest employability. Figured if anyone’d take me, it’d be Engineering.” 

He’s not entirely sure what play he’s trying, but he thinks it’s somewhere between making it very obvious how much of a terrible person he is and reluctantly repaying Seonghwa for letting him stay overnight by humouring him with a conversation. 

He’s even less certain why the guy’s still talking to  _ him _ , but it’s too early for Hongjoong to have any chance of falling asleep anyway, and Seonghwa isn’t dressed for bed, so he supposes there’s no harm in having a conversation. He’s not entirely sure when he’d last had a conversation with someone other than Mingi or Yeosang that didn’t involve him talking his way out of a prison sentence.

“Medicine employs better,” Seonghwa points out.

Hoongjoong laughs, one short bark of sound that’s more derision than amusement. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just sell all my organs to afford the textbooks and then get coughed on by old people all day as a reward. I’ll leave that kind of thing to people like you, thanks.”

“What does ‘people like me' mean?”

“Absolutely nothing, angel.” The pet name that slips from his lip sounds more like an insult than a compliment, just as it had the first time, when Hongjoong had jokingly called him a guardian angel and then disappeared into the crowd of a busy street.

Seonghwa goes quiet for a moment, and Hongjoong closes his eyes again, one arm under his head. 

“Do you get a student loan?”

“Yup,” Hongjoong says, popping the ‘p’ so it almost echoes.

“Huh.”

The silence lasts this time, and it’s heavy. Hongjoong can still feel Seonghwa’s presence above him, hovering by the sofa, but the only sound is their breathing, and the almost imperceptible ticking of Seonghwa’s watch.

Hongjoong sighs. “You’re staring.” 

The impression of eyes on his skin immediately disappears.

“Sorry, I was just-”

“You were just wondering why I bother stealing if I’m not homeless and unemployed.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “I didn’t-”

“Sometimes bad people are just bad people,” Hongjoong says over him. His eyes are open now, and dark, something brooding behind them that’s less than friendly. The jaded sort of amusement that had coloured his voice before this point is gone, and his voice is hard and stubborn. “If you have a problem with that, I can be on my way-”

“Stop. No, I didn’t mean that.”

Hongjoong stops halfway up from the couch, and Seonghwa sighs.

“I’m sorry, I was just curious. I didn’t mean anything like that.”

Hongjoong sits back, still looking ready to argue. Seonghwa keeps looking down at him with that pitiful apologetic expression, though, and he just huffs, putting his feet up again and throwing an arm over his face.

“Whatever.” 

He supposes this is the part where he should be apologising for yelling, or something like that, but sorry is a word Hongjoong usually saves for impressionable young cops who look like they’ll turn a blind eye if he begs, so he doesn’t feel using it, right now.

There’s a tug at his feet, and he freezes.

Without lifting his arm away from his face, he asks: “What are you doing?”

The tugging continues, and he peers down at the end of the sofa to see Seonghwa sitting on the armrest, beside his feet, undoing his laces.

“Boots go by the elevator,” he says in way of explanation, as he pulls one of Hongjoong’s shoes off, and then the other. He picks them up from where they’d dropped to the floor and deposits them at the end of a neat row of his own already sitting against the wall.

Hongjoong lets out one breathy huff of laughter.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” he says, and Seonghwa just looks at him, and he bites his tongue. “Shit. Alright. I meant thank you. Thank you.”

Seonghwa gives him a small smile. “Just get some sleep, Hongjoong.”


	6. Nice Try, Stalker Guy

Hongjoong wakes with a start as a grinding, cavernous groan fills the room and sits up so quickly the sofa under him slides against the floorboards.

Seonghwa looks up from where he’s leaning against the counter in the kitchen, a small, amused smile playing at his lips.

“Good morning.”

Hongjoong glares at him, eyes bleary with the sudden awakening, checking his phone and seeing a number far too low for his liking glaring back at him. It’s seven o’clock. The only reason to be awake this early is if there’s a fire or you’re getting robbed.

Neither appears to be happening.

Hongjoong falls back onto the sofa and groans. “Of  _ course _ you’re a morning person.”

The groaning stops, and there’s a series of clinks as Seonghwa fusses over a mug and then pads across the floorboards into the living room. Sensing his closeness, Hongjoong opens his eyes, squinting against the sudden assault of light, and watches as the older boy slides a steaming mug towards him across the low coffee table separating the sofas.

“It’s coffee,” he says. “Drink it.”

Hongjoong reluctantly pulls himself into a sitting position as Seonghwa paces back to the kitchen.

“What’d you put in it, rat poisoning?”

“Just milk and sugar, actually,” Seonghwa replies, as the coffee machine starts groaning again.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. He stares down at the saucer and teacup Seonghwa had placed in front of him. He draws them closer with one finger and sniffs. Doesn’t seem poisonous. 

He drinks the entire thing in one go, feeling it almost burn the back of his throat with satisfaction. 

Seonghwa watches him drink, then turns around and grabs his own mug, pulling out the chair at the head of the kitchen table. There’s a newspaper already on the tabletop, and as he sits he pulls it towards him. 

“If you’re finished with it, the mug goes in the sink,” he says, without looking up.

Hongjoong sighs and carries his mug over to the kitchen, depositing it in the sink with as much thunderous rattling as possible. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice.

Hongjoong takes a seat at the table, plucking a pastry from the little circular plate in front of Seonghwa more to annoy him than because of the hunger starting to gnaw at his stomach. 

“There’s cereal in the cupboards if you like,” Seonghwa says, turning the page.

Christ. It’s not even fun, with this guy.

Hongjoong puts his feet up on the chair opposite him and tries not to moan around whatever kind of bread thing he’d just put in his mouth. It’s sweet and buttery and he hadn’t been prepared for this level of deliciousness so early in the morning because of one tiny stolen pastry.

Seonghwa pushes the other across the table toward him. He doesn’t take it.

“What time do your classes start?”

Hongjoong crosses his arms and leans back against the chair, closing his eyes with a smile. “Nice try, stalker guy, but I’m not giving you those details so easy.”

Seonghwa manages to laugh in a way that’s pure incredulousness rather than amusement. “One second I’m a guardian angel and the next I’m a stalker?”

Hongjoong opens his eyes just to give him an amused, questioning look, one eyebrow raised. “Did you or did you not just try to work out my schedule?”

“I was going to offer to call you a taxi.”

“Well don’t.” Now there’s caffeine and sugar in his system and his stomach is a little closer to being full, he has the brainpower to remember the events of yesterday, and he feels his mood start to plumet like a lead balloon. “Algebra’s gonna have to wait until I find a place to stay.”

It’s out before he can wonder why he’s still talking, and Seonghwa looks up from his newspaper, brows knitted together before he smooths his expression out to something more neutral.

“You shouldn’t skip your classes.”

There’s something practised in the way he says it, so naturally as he reaches for the discarded pastry, like it’s something he tells Yeosang when he’s acting rebellious, and it makes Hongjoong feel young and stupid and ridiculously, irrationally frustrated.

“What would you know about it?” Hongjoong bites. He sets his jaw stubbornly, the same challenging look on his face as the previous night, when it’d looked like he was daring Seonghwa to send him away.

Seonghwa pauses, chewing slowly, eyes flickering between Hongjoong’s. He swallows, takes a calm sip of his coffee, and nods, once or twice, as he sets it back down. “Alright,” he says, “Alright, I’ll bite.” He sits back, taking his time, mulling it over, and then he starts, his pace languid, his deep voice cold and fluid and clever.

“The second time we met I asked if there was anything I could offer you and you asked me if I worked in property law, which means you’ve been having trouble with a landlord. You’re a student at Yeosang’s university, and I’ve never heard of anything terribly wrong with the accomodation they provide, so the place you’re renting isn’t associated with the school. Paired with the fact that we’ve already established you’re having problems, I’d wager you’re one of the kids who thought they’d hit the goldmine with a cheap apartment in the middle of the city until your landlord started raising your rent, which I guess we can assume is the reason you’ve been stealing wallets.Then you showed up here last night with bleeding knuckles and nowhere to go, which means you were evicted and didn’t exactly take it well.” Seonghwa takes another sip of his coffee and smiles. “How did I do?”

Hongjoong’s glare is so dark and sharp he almost looks away, and almost apologises, the kind of anger someone so young shouldn’t be able to feel yet, his lips pulled down into a scowl, his eyes glowering and mean and unwavering. He pushes his seat back and gets to his feet.

“What, you don’t want to play anymore?”

“You're an ass,” Hongjoong hisses, just as a door opens and Yeosang steps into the room.

He stops, sensing the tension in the air, and looks between them. “What’s going on?” he asks, eyes on Hongjoong.

“Your brother’s an asshole, that’s what’s going on.”

“What?”

Yeosang’s brows drop so quickly and severely it would be funny in any other situation, but neither of them are even paying attention to him. Hongjoong’s in the process of storming towards the couch, and Seonghwa at the kitchen table is watching him with an unreadable expression. Hongjoong scopes his backpack from where it sits against the sofa and slams the bathroom door behind him.

Yeosang winces. “What...was that about?”

Seonghwa’s already turning back to his newspaper. He lifts a shoulder, disinterested. “I don’t know.”

With one last glance over his shoulder to where the bathroom door had slammed, Yeosang tiptoes over to the kitchen table and sits beside his brother.

“ _ So- _ ”

Seonghwa stands and picks his mug and plate from the table, stepping up to the sink. “What d’you want?”

Yeosang sighs. Acting nice should work better than this, but it never does.

“I kinda need you to look after Hongjoong for me. He’s probably going to skip school today and do something stupid so, if you could keep an eye on him-”

Seonghwa scrubs at his mug with more force than is probably necessary and shakes his head, exasperated. “I have other things I need to do today besides babysit your friend.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Yeosang, testify in a child abandonment case?”

Yeosang drops his head into his hand. “Shit.” 

“Why would I need to follow your friend around, anyway? You think he’d listen to me?” He nods his head towards the bathroom door, where Hongjoong has locked himself away, and the sound of the shower fills the silence that falls between them as Yeosang thinks.

“You’ve gotten him out of trouble before, right? Isn’t that kind of your thing?”

Seonghwa frowns at him over his shoulder. “I don’t know what that means, Sang, but I really don’t have time for this today. You’ve messed up my morning enough already.” Yeosang sits up straighter and opens his mouth, but Seonghwa cuts him off before he can say anything. “If you’re going to tell me a change in routine should be welcomed, you know where the door is. One San is enough.”

“OK,” Yeosang groans, “you can go about your day and do all your adult things.” He scrunches up his nose at the idea, and gets to his feet, rummaging around in the cereal cupboard. “But Joong hates skipping classes. Even if you’d just drop him at school and make sure he went-”

“And expect him to stay because I said so? He’s not a dog, Yeosang.”

Yeosang snorts and pours far too much cereal into a bowl. “It’s more fitting than you’d think, really.” Seonghwa just shakes his head, by now aware that the somewhat unpleasant way Yeosang speaks about his friends is only born of fondness.

Yeosang checks his watch. “Shouldn’t San be showing up about-” he’s interrupted with the ding of the elevator, and San stops short, surprised to see them both in the kitchen.

“Speak of the devil,” Yeosang says.

San gives him a wide, amiable smile as he wanders over. “Didn’t know you were here, Sangie.” He makes a show of flattening his hair and fixing his tie. “I’d have made more of an effort if I knew.”

Yeosang giggles happily, just like he always does when San jokes around, and Seonghwa settles back against the counter and watches them.

“How much has he been nagging at you for disrupting his morning?” San asks, throwing Seonghwa a cheeky, knowing look.

“No more than he always does.”

Seonghwa returns the clean mugs to their place in the cupboard above him and tutts.

“My morning has not been  _ disrupted _ , I would have just preferred more of a warning so I-”

The bathroom door opens, startling them all out of their familiar little bubble of conversation, and they all look towards it as Hongjoong steps out amongst a cloud of steam, his hair wet, a fresh pair of almost identical ripped jeans and a dark, hooded sweatshirt replacing the outfit he’d slept in.

San’s mouth drops open.

He looks between Seonghwa trying to avoid his eye and the guy who perfectly matches Seonghwa’s description of the infamous thief boy now glaring back at him from Seonghwa’s bathroom doorway.

Hongjoong bristles at the newcomer who’s very openly staring at him. “Who the hell is this?” 

It’s not clear who the growled question is aimed at, so Seonghwa and Yeosang both look at each other, confused. 

Seonghwa recovers the quickest. 

“This is my partner, San.”

Hongjoong looks San up and down in a way that makes Seonghwa, who is nowhere near Hongjoong’s line of sight, want to shrivel up self consciously. 

“Oh,” he says. “Didn’t know you were into that kinda thing.”

“ _ Christ _ , no,” San says.

“The partner of my  _ law firm, _ ” Seonghwa corrects. “You know, the one that we own, together. That kind of partner.”

Because San has absolutely no filter, he says probably the worst thing Seonghwa could imagine him saying in this situation: “You must be the thief Seonghwa was talking about.”

Hongjoong grins in a way that’s the opposite of friendly. “Must be.”

A slow grin starts lifting San’s lips despite Hongjoong’s hostility.

“Well,” he says jovially, “that was quicker than I expected.”

The others frown, and Seonghwa raises a hand in the air as San opens his mouth to continue.

“ _ Stop _ talking, before you say something stupid. We should be leaving.”

San’s mouth snaps closed, though he still looks as if he wants to say something, and Hongjoong catches Yeosang duck his head to hide a smile. Seonghwa is striding past him, grabbing the suit jacket from the back of his chair and pulling it on as he walks. San grimaces, in Yeosang’s direction, and scrambles to follow, ruffling Yeosang’s hair as he passes.

“See you around, kiddo.”

Only when the elevator starts to descend does Hongjoong move from the bathroom doorway.

“You never mentioned your brother’s name.”

Yeosang splutters something close to a laugh. “It’s hardly my fault you tried to rob him.”

“I did  _ not _ try to rob him.”

With a dark expression, Hongjoong steps into the kitchen and shoves Yeosang’s feet from the seat opposite him, pulling out the chair and sitting.

“The pedantics hardly matter, do they?” Yeosang slides what’s left of his breakfast over the table and watches as Hongjoong tries to decide whether he’s hungry enough to accept it. “You clearly did something to annoy him. And that takes a lot, so I’m almost impressed.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang says gravely, fixing him with a serious look as if trying to make him understand how serious his words are, “you’re the first person who’s ever not immediately fallen head over heels for my brother as soon as they meet him. You called him an asshole.”

“Because he was being an asshole.”

“Which means you were definitely being an asshole first,” Yeosang reasons. 

“Thanks for being on my side,” Hongjoong says sarcastically. “Why can’t you just take my word for it?”

“Because I’ve argued with my brother more than I should have,” Yeosang admits, “and every single time, I end up being the asshole. You can say anything to that sucker and he’d just take it. Sometimes I think he’s just smart enough to know how guilty I’ll feel afterwards, but then I think about every interaction I’ve ever had with him and realise he’s just too damn nice.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Sure he is.”

Leaning forward, crossing his arms on top of the table, Yeosang narrows his eyes. “What did he even say to you that’s gotten so under your skin?”

Hongjoong talks a big game, but he doesn’t actually enjoy being angry. Though he’s quick to anger, he’s usually just as quick to forget.

“Nothing. Leave it.”

Mingi stumbles out of the spare room, saving him from any more of Yeosang’s questions, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, joining them at the table. “What’s for breakfast?”

Hongjoong grabs Yeosang’s wrist and turns it so he can see his watch. “Don’t you two have nine o’clock classes to be getting to?”

They stare at each other for a motionless second before Yeosang curses and they both scramble out of their chairs, Mingi leaping over the sofa to grab his bag.

“You’re really not coming?” Yeosang asks breathily, as he’s trying to slide on his shoes and Mingi’s pressing the button to the elevator insistently. Hongjoong squares his jaw and shakes his head.

“I’ve got some stuff to sort out, first.”

Neither of them ask anymore. By the end of the day Yeosang will be back in his accomodation and Mingi a little further from the city center staying with his brother, and without discussing it Hongjoong already knows neither of those options are open to him. He’s too much of a bad influence to be welcomed by any of Mingi’s family, and Yeosang’s made so much trouble even without Hongjoong’s help that the guards who routinely check his accommodation would definitely not tolerate him having a friend stay over. Particularly if that friend were to be Hongjoong.

He needs a plan.


	7. Mr Robot

Seonghwa drags himself back to his apartment just after noon and finds Hongjoong cross legged on his floor. He has Seonghwa’s laptop on the living room coffee table in front of him, and he’s so busy squinting at it that he doesn’t realise anyone has stepped out of the lift until Seonghwa drops the bag from his shoulder onto the floor as loudly as possible.

Hongjoong doesn’t jump, like he’d wanted him to, just snaps his head very quickly in Seonghwa’s direction and then relaxes with an irritated frown. Hongjoong curses.

“Might I ask what it is you’re still doing in my apartment?”

“I didn’t think you’d come back so early.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Hongjooong sighs and turns the computer off, getting to his feet. 

“I didn’t ask you to leave,” Seonghwa says, and something in his voice pulls Hongjoong’s attention from the bags he’d been gathering. 

There’s not anything obviously wrong with Seonghwa. In fact, he looks almost exactly as he had that morning, plain black suit uncreased and tailored, not a hair out of place. But his face is so expressionless that Hongjoong can’t help but feel a little wary.

“Are you-” he starts to ask, and then pauses, as Seonghwa looks back at him. “Are you OK?”

Seonghwa falls gracefully into the sofa opposite him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, just…”

He gestures vaguely to the air around Seonghwa, and the other boy blinks at him without moving, as if he’s about to deny it again, and then drops his head in his hands.

Hongjoong freezes.

“I can go-”

“What were you doing?” Seonghwa interrupts, raking his fingers through his dark hair before dropping his hands to his lap, the exhaustion starting to seep into his expression the only sign that something is wrong.

Hongjoong looks down at the laptop without any trace of guilt. “Rent prices,” he says, then immediately glares down at Seonghwa as if already building up an argument in his head, picking apart some predetermined thing he expects Seonghwa to say.

Seonghwa eyes the laptop, closed but still switched on, the little blue power light at the side flickering. “How did you guess my password?”

“It was just Yeosang’s birthday.”

Seonghwa seems to remember who he’s talking to, and a flash of understanding overcomes the exhaustion on his face, only for a fleeting moment. “Right.”

Hongjoong hesitates.

“I didn’t mean to outstay my welcome, I just needed to steal your wifi to find somewhere to sleep tonight. I was supposed to be gone by the time you got back.”

Seonghwa offers a valiant attempt at a smile. “That’s alright.”

With every second he’s getting worse at smothering his emotions, and Hongjoong sees how heavy his gaze is, how he’s very barely slouching, how every smile he tries to pull up can’t quite make it to his eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be on my way-”

“Please-” Seonghwa starts, and Hongjoong turns from where he’d been grabbing his bag to look at him over his shoulder. Seonghwa matches his gaze. “Stay. For a while. If you would.”

There’s no emotion in his voice. He’s still so in control, denying Hongjoong any sense of understanding even as he draws out the faintest trace of pity. Hongjoong isn’t a great comforter, but he’s not heartless. And he wasn’t finished with his search, and maybe if he hangs around here a little longer he can slip a few packets of chips in his bag before he’s inevitably, eventually kicked out, so...

He sits on the opposite sofa.

“I’m not very good at giving advice,” he warns.

“I’m not going to ask for any.”

“You want to talk about it, though?”

Seonghwa closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling it, slowly, before he answers. “Not particularly.” He gives the same tight smile again, and it’s either getting more convincing through practice, or it’s actually getting more genuine. “It’s just work stuff.”

“Lost a case, huh?”

The questions out before he can think about it, more a reflexive, natural habit of poking at bruises than a sincere inquiry. He tries not to let regret show on his face when Seonghwa looks across at him. Hongjoong has brought his attention to something, and Seonghwa focusses on it, the first chance at distraction he finds.

“How did you know I was a lawyer?”

Hongjoong guesses he owes him an explanation, if he’d called Seonghwa a stalker already.

So he admits it. “I read your business card. You put it in the other guy’s wallet, after you gave yours away.”

“I see.”

“Lawyers lose cases sometimes, right? Is it really worth-” he gestures again in the general direction of Seonghwa. The vague downturn of his lips, the slight ruffle of his hair and the weight of his gaze would seem imperceptible on anyone else, but on Seonghwa they somehow equate to openly weeping and throwing things. Hongjoong wonders how much it would take to actually get Seonghwa to do either of those things. 

“I’ll be fine,” Seonghwa says, and the easy, firm tone of his voice makes it seem as if this is a rehearsed response. It’s easy to imagine Yeosang, or Seonghwa’s friend from that morning, sitting in Hongjoong’s place right now and doing a far better job of consoling him.

“You know, if I need to blow off some steam I just do what normal people do. Like yell at my friends or put my fist through a wall.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Are you sure? Cause if you need someone to yell at, I just so happen to be available right now.”

“Why would I want to do that?” When Hongjoong shakes his head, exasperated, he studies him. “Why would _you_ want me to do that?”

Hongjoong shrugs. “Beats acting like a creepy robot person.”

“I’m not angry, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa sighs. At the sound of his name, Hongjoong feels a weird, twisting sensation in his gut, halfway between pleasant and unpleasant. He hadn’t given his name willingly, but here it is being thrown around anyway, the first time someone other than Yeosang or Mingi had said it in at least a few months. He can’t quite figure out how he feels about how easily it falls from Seonghwa’s tongue.

“I’m disappointed,” the older boy’s saying. “And I’m sad.”

“OK.” He nods once, twice, and Seonghwa can practically hear the gears turning in his mind. “OK,” he repeats, “I’m usually on the other end of disappointment, so I’m not really sure about that one, but I’m pretty sure the universal cure for sadness is either alcohol or ice cream.”

“It’s barely past noon.”

“God, you’re so responsible,” Hongjoong groans, shivering. “Ice cream, then?”

Seonghwa cracks, just a little. His head drops, Hongjoong suddenly seeing the top of his hair rather than his face, and sighs in a way that sounds like vaguely amused acceptance. “How about a coffee,” he offers instead.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Great, sure, a coffee. It’s a start, at least.” He gets to his feet quickly, because Seonghwa had looked as if he was about to stand and make it himself, and Hongjoong suddenly feels like if he can’t offer to make a coffee he’ll never pay Seonghwa back for letting them stay the night and not calling the cops on him twice and not actually being that terrible to talk to. 

He won’t be in his debt.

A coffee might not make up for it, but it’s still something he can do to take his mind off of everything and escape Seonghwa’s clever gaze for a moment, so he spends the next few trying to figure out how to work the coffee machine. 

Judging from the very obvious grimace Seonghwa does after taking his first sip, his efforts aren’t entirely successful.

“What did I get wrong, all I had to do was put the beans in the machine.”

“It’s burnt,” Seonghwa says, a frown line deep between his brows. Not exactly what Hongjoong had wanted when he’d vetoed Seonghwa’s usual robotic calm, but eh, at least it’s something. The first tiny crack in a perfect mask.

“Thank you, though.”

Hongjoong groans. So much for progress.

“If the coffee’s terrible, you don’t say thank you,” he says, as he perches on the arm of the sofa he’s growing used to sitting on. “You send it back.”

“You’re going to make me another, are you?”

Snorting, Hongjoong lets himself fall from the arm to the sofa cushions. “Hilarious. One was pushing it, so, drink your burnt coffee and shut up.”

Tipping his head, Seonghwa takes another sip from his mug and winces, glaring as Hongjoong laughs at his reaction.

It really is terrible. Not just because Seonghwa’s so used to the same perfect blend he always makes. 

And it was unexpected.

Honestly, the fact that Hongjoong’s actually talking to him at all is unexpected. Seonghwa’s not entirely sure his motivations extend outside of stealing his wifi and having a place to escape the cold outside, but he’s also not entirely sure it matters. 

Hongjoong would definitely not appreciate his appreciation, though, so instead of thanking him again he asks instead: “This wasn’t just an excuse to get into the kitchen so you could steal the silverware, was it?”

A sly grin grows across Hongjoong’s lips at the idea. “Would you yell at me if I stole all of your cutlery?”

Seonghwa looks up to the ceiling, actually considering it. “Probably not,” he concludes.

“Jesus, you’re dull.”

Seonghwa actually laughs a little, at that. Hongjoong feels an unexpected thrill, as the sorrow temporarily leaves the other boy’s face, smug. Maybe this is why some people enjoy the whole _caring for others_ thing, he thinks. Then he almost snorts aloud at the idea. 

“You’re not so bad,” Seonghwa says unexpectedly.

Hongjoong looks up to find Seonghwa’s eyes on him, somehow managing to be both heavy and gentle as they stare back at him. He raises a brow.

“I made you a burnt coffee so you wouldn’t talk about your feelings, and suddenly I’m the picture of moral behaviour?”

The older boy shrugs. “You stayed when I asked you to.”

Scoping the laptop up from the coffee table, Hongjoong reminds him, “Free wifi.”

“Right.” Seonghwa forgets why he’d set his mug down still half-full on the coffee table and sips, practically trembling as he swallows. “Did you find somewhere?”

Hongjoong taps away at the computer mouse. “Sure.”

Seonghwa studies him for a while, seeing how the younger boy’s eyes dart across the laptop screen, reading, squinting and mouthing words when he comes across a sentence he can’t read as easily. 

“Hongjoong.” He gets no reaction the first time, so he tries again, and receives an annoyed hum of acknowledgement.

“What?” Hongjoong asks, not looking up from the screen.

“Did you actually find a place?”

Sharp eyes finally look away from the screen to glare into his. “What’s it to you?” Seonghwa says nothing, unsure how to answer, and those eyes leave his just as quickly. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You can’t just stay at Yeosang’s for a few days?”

“The security in his building hates him even more than they hate me.”

Seonghwa recalls some of the more traumatising stories Yeosang had told him during his rare visits- most featuring one familiar name- that he had chosen to believe were exaggerations until now.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, there was a reason I didn’t guess you two were brothers.”

From the way he says it, it’s so obvious which one he prefers and which he considers the black sheep. Seonghwa isn’t entirely certain why that stings. Of course Hongjoong would think more fondly of his friend than a guy he’d just met a few days ago. It shouldn’t matter. Seonghwa’s always been the example child. He’s just as painfully aware of that as Yeosang is.

He puts it down to the terrible day he’s been having and the fact that everyone else he’s close to also seem to think he’s more mechanics than person. They’d never been as blunt as Hongjoong, but he knows they think that too, sometimes.

Which is also probably why he offers.

“I have a spare room.”

Honjoong blinks up at him as if he’s trying to convince himself he’d heard that wrong. When he realises he hasn’t, he scoffs. “Are you being serious?” Seonghwa shrugs. “What if I’m an axe murderer, or something?”

“What if _I’m_ an axe murderer?”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, skeptically, and his eyes travel up and down Seonghwa’s form. “I could still probably take you.”

“Sure,” Seonghwa nods gravely, “it’s not as if you’re an entire foot shorter than me or anything.”

He’s surprised with himself, but tries not to show it as Hongjoong looks back at him with surprise bordering on being impressed.

“Didn’t take you for the kind that makes short jokes.”

“I feel like it should be one of the luxuries you afford me if you’re going to be staying in my apartment.”

“Which I never agreed to do,” Hongjoong points out.

“Where else are you going to go?” Seonghwa asks, and Hongjoong tenses. Immediately, the joking atmosphere they’d almost built shatters, and the dark, fathomless anger returns to Hongjoong’s face. Seonghwa recognises it this time and scrambles to apologise. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be presumptuous. It wasn’t a judgement.”

“Sure sounded like one,” Hongjoong muses, anger unmoving.

“I was just trying to offer you a place to sleep as a repayment for your help. And an apology for what I did this morning that offended you. Reject it if you want.”

Hongjoong’s gaze doesn’t soften.

“You must have really needed that burnt cup of coffee if you think letting me stay here is equal to one short conversation where I _almost_ tried to comfort you.”

“You did try,” Seonghwa says. “And you succeeded, so I want to help. Well, I’d want to help either way, but now I can disguise it as repayment and you’re less likely to reject it out of spite.”

“You sure about that?” Hongjoong asks, hearing the stubborness in his voice even when he knows Seonghwa’s reasoning had been sound.

Seonghwa presses his lips together. “No.”

A heavy, charged silence passes between them. Hongjoong keeps glaring, and Seonghwa forces himself to match the gaze.

“How can you be sure you wont wake up to an empty apartment tomorrow morning?” Hongjoong eventually asks. “Letting me stay here might just lead to all of your furniture going on ebay.”

Seonghwa just repeats, “You don’t seem that bad.”

No longer angry, it appears, Hongjoong gives him a pitying smile, as close to the impish grin he’d worn the day they’d met as he’d gotten since. “Oh, angel,” he breathes, “you really don’t know anything.”

Seonghwa can’t place his tone. Whether he’s teasing, or maybe flirting, or if he really is being serious, and this is a mistake. He knows immediately that he doesn’t, and _shouldn’t_ trust Hongjoong, and it’s most likely a mutual feeling, considering the things Seonghwa has said. 

But he has a big apartment. And too much time. And friends who think he doesn’t know how to take risks anymore.

And maybe Hongjoong makes him feel like taking a risk wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not entirely that he likes him. More like curiosity. There’s something interesting about Hongjoong, that Seonghwa knows he doesn’t have. Something difficult, and mean, and fierce.

And Seonghwa likes puzzles. Likes having a problem to fix.

So he thinks about it a different way.

“We could consider it a test, then. You stay here a week, no stealing, try to get your business in order. You get a roof over your head and a week to see if you can turn things around.”

Hongjoong surprises him by not immediately opposing the idea- instead, he already has a question of his own.

“And what’s the test for you?”

Seonghwa blinks at him. “What?”

“Why am I the only one being tested? Shouldn’t there be a second test for you to take?”

“I...I don’t like people intruding on my personal space,” Seonghwa admits. “And I have a routine I like to stick to. Letting you stay is already a test, for me.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, thinking. 

“So...I stay here for a week, and you don’t get me arrested, so long as I try to behave. And you’re doing this because…?”

“I want to help.”

“Yeah, I’m not buying it.”

“Is it really so difficult to believe? I don’t like the idea of someone being on the streets when I have the means to help them.”

Hongjoong tips his head. “You’re too nice,” he says. It isn’t a compliment.

“You're my brother's friend, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t mean you and I are friends.”

Seonghwa smiles tightly. “I know,” he sighs. “You’ve made that very clear.”

Hongjoong shrugs unapologetically. “Do I need to make it clearer? Why would you think I’d just accept an offer like that without a question? I don’t know anything about you.”

“Well, I could-”

“Why am I still here, Seonghwa? Do you need someone to do your laundry for you, is that it? Am I going to do your chores while you're at work, fix you dinner? I’m not a house pet.”

“That wasn’t- I’d never-”

“Good things don’t come for free. Maybe rich kids like you haven’t learned that lesson, but I have.” He gets to his feet, so quickly he almost topples the coffee table, and Seonghwa starts.

“I don’t need a maid. Or a-a pet-”

“But you want something,” Hongjoong urges. He’s looking down at Seonghwa with something so dark and angry it cant even be called a glare anymore, his hands in fists, so his knuckles turn white, making the cuts and bruises there stand out in deeper shades of red and blue. “And you’re not telling me what it is because you think someone like me would be so grateful for help from someone like you that I wouldn’t even consider questioning your intentions.”

“Alright,” Seonghwa says. He hadn’t raised his voice, not quite, but it had certainly been firmer than before. “You’re right. There’s something else.” 

He hadn’t wanted to admit this. He shouldn’t even be considering it.

But it would solve his problem. He’d realised as soon as Hongjoong had stepped out of the bathroom that morning and saw the look on San’s face. He’d realised, then, even if he couldn’t actually imagine getting to a point when he’d let himself ask for this.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Hongjoong demands.

“If you sit down.”

It looks as if his opportunity is slipping through his fingers for a moment, because Hongjoong spends a long time looking down at him before he reluctantly sits back down on the sofa, keeping his eyes locked on Seonghwa’s the entire time.

“Talk.”

The command is so clearly impatient and expecting the worst that Seonghwa almost backs out immediately, dropping his head in his hands for the second time that day, groaning.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.” He takes his hands from his face to see Hongjoong staring at him, unblinking, waiting. “OK. You remember my friend from this morning?”

Hongjoong nods. “San.”

“Yeah, well, he has a nasty habit of trying to set me up with anything that breathes, and I can’t get him to stop.”

Hongjoong stares at him. For a second, he says nothing. “Tell me this isn’t going where I think it’s going.”

Seonghwa rushes on before he can misunderstand, words spilling out quickly- “If you would just pretend-”

“I knew he gave me a weird look this morning,” Hongjoong suddenly says, stopping Seonghwa’s hurried request with the realisation. Then he frowns. “Do you really think he would believe you were dating someone you’d met last week?” His eyes rake over Seonghwa’s form. “You don’t really seem like the type.”

“He’d believe it,” Seonghwa says with surprising conviction. There’s something there Hongjoong doesn’t know.

“Why?”

There’s only one acceptable answer, so Seonghwa swallows his pride and says it. “I might have told him I thought you were attractive.” 

Hongjoong tenses, instantly. “If this is some elaborate plan to live out some weird, perverted fantasy-”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, shoving down his annoyance as his voice speaks easily over Hongjoong’s. “You think there’s any fraction of my mind that thinks we’re compatible after this conversation?”

It’s hard to argue with, but Hongjoong shrugs anyway. “I don’t know what you’re into.”

“Well, you’re not it. It’d just be a..a game. You get to stay here, I get to avoid being kidnapped and forced into awkward blind dates. It’s a win win.”

Hongjoong settles back into the sofa so he can study Seonghwa from a distance. His voice is genuinely curious when he asks: “And you think I’d agree to this?”

“You like games, don’t you? I see the way you look at people. Stealing’s like a game to you, isn’t it?”

Hongjoong doesn’t deny it, though something sparks in his blood as he imagines someone else knowing his secret, noticing the way he relaxes only when he watches people and picks out weak links. 

“Consider this just another one of your games. You help me convince San we’re dating, you get the spare room. It’s the perfect opportunity to torment me, you should enjoy it.”

Hongjoong makes a show of considering his options. He stares at Seonghwa as if daring the other boy to look away, and when he doesn’t, Hongjoong throws his arms across the back of the sofa and grins. “There,” he says, that impish grin stealing the anger from his face. “Was that so hard?”

Seonghwa blinks at him. “Wha-you...You’re not angry.”

“No you’re right this actually sounds like something I’d do for fun.”

A game that’d last longer than the little glances he can give people on the street, that’d be more delicate, that’d take more of his brain power. And a chance to get under Seonghwa’s skin, which just might be the best part. Find a way to make the angel raise his voice, now that would be fun. Disrupt the perfect civility, little by little.

“You were never actually angry, were you?”

“Not really,” Hongjoong grins. “Just wanted you to spit out whatever it was you weren’t telling me.”

He hardly looks like the same person. The stoney, angered expression has been replaced by an easy, cunning smile, the dark fire behind his eyes that had been so hard to look at only moments ago now a mischievous gleam. Seonghwa wonders which version is the real one.

“How did you know?”

“I told you. Everyone wants something.”

Seonghwa hates that the evidence points to that being right. He really had wanted to offer the kid a place to sleep. He would offer it to any of Yeosang’s friends who were down on their luck. Even if their hobbies were a little….questionable, and their knuckles scraped by recent bad decisions.

“Just tell me whether you’ll do it,” Seonghwa sighs.

“What happens when I find a place to stay?”

Seonghwa shrugs. “We have an unfortunate but very intense breakup and I act heartbroken for a few months so San feels too sorry for me to force me on dates.”

The impish grin fades into a curious smirk as Hongjoong tips his head. “Doesn’t sound very nice, nice guy.”

From the expression that flickers so quickly across Seonghwa’s expression that Hongjoong almost misses it, this is something that actually bothers him.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I know. San’s not that nice, though, so he’d probably just be impressed, and I’m getting desperate, so…” He looks up at Hongjoong through his lashes. “Will you do it?”

Hongjoong looks around the room so meticulously set out around him, the tidy line of shoes by the elevator, the plain color scheme, where nothing is out of place. His eyes trail over Seonghwa too, the almost cold panes of his face, the dark fabric of his suit, more expensive, probably, than Hongjoong’s entire wardrobe put together. 

Yeosang’s perfect older brother. So much higher in the pecking order. 

And he grins.


	8. Playing Nice

Hongjoong wakes up to the thunderous roar of the coffee machine and groans.

He rolls over to see into the kitchen and finds Seonghwa, leaning against the counter, smiling across at him.

“Good morning.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. He hadn’t expected Seonghwa to go easy on him. He prepares himself for the first act of their little play as he rolls off of the sofa and stumbles toward the kitchen.

“That’s my seat.”

Seonghwa looks down at him from his spot by the coffee machine, and Hongjoong stretches tired limbs with a disinterested expression. “These are all your seats.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. I have breakfast in that seat every morning.”

Hongjoong looks down at himself, as if trying to see something about the chair beneath him that marks it as different from the others. “Every morning?”

“Yes.”

The coffee machine stops its moaning and Seonghwa grabs his now-full mug from underneath it.

“This particular chair?”

“Yes, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “that particular chair, now would you just move over so I can sit down?”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, but moves to the seat to his left, keeping close enough to ensure he’s still in Seonghwa’s personal space. The older shakes his head, noticing the decision.

He thumbs through a newspaper as he drinks, feeling Hongjoong watching him, determined to ignore the obvious attempts to annoy him.

“Do I not get a coffee this time?” Hongjoong asks.

“You need to seem comfortable around me and my house so-” his eyes leave the paper for a half-second “-you can get them yourself, from now on.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “That’s a good excuse for no longer needing to be nice to me,” he mutters, moving over to the coffee machine. “Shouldn’t you be acting nicer to me than ever, seen as we’re dating?”

There’s a crinkling sound as Seonghwa turns the page and doesn’t even grace him with a glare. “Unless San is in the room, we’re not dating.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Hongjoong rests against the counter. “What about Yeosang?” he asks, and sees Seonghwa take a measured sip as if giving himself time to think before answering. Like he’s trying to build himself up to saying something he doesn’t want to. Which means the plan is lying.

There’s a boundary there Hongjoong isn’t so comfortable crossing. He’s known Yeosang so long now that lying is a bigger deal than it would be with anyone else.

And then there’s another issue: “Yeosang would know I wouldn’t date you.”

Instead of looking offended, Seonghwa laughs. “Like I said, you’re not exactly my type either.” Another sip as he thinks, and Hongjoong sets his own coffee on the table and sits, further away this time. “I wasn’t sure what to do about Yeosang,” Seonghwa admits. “I don’t think he’d lie to San even if I asked him to.”

“We’re just going to have to lie to Yeosang too, then.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes. “You’d do that?” he asks, voice filled with something close to disgust. “What happened to knowing him for years?”

“We don’t need to say we’re _dating_ ,” Hongjoong reasons. “Just...pretend something happened while he was away. He’s a grown up, he should understand.”

Seonghwa doesn’t look too sure.

“He might expect that kind of thing from you, but-”

The elevator chimes, breaking up their conversation, and Seonghwa straightens, leaning away as if he’d still been reading his newspaper, and Hongjoong tries to pull up the same watchful, ecstatic feeling he feels walking around busy streets after dark.

San steps out of the elevator, looks up from his phone, and spots them together at the table. His steps falter. Hongjoong gives him a wide, smug smile.

“Oh. Pick pocket! You’re still here.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes as San steps toward them. “It’s _Hongjoong_ , San.”

“Right, right. Hongjoong.”

Bemused, Hongjoong watches San pull out a seat, smiling widely, eyes taking in every inch of Hongjoong who looks back and tries not to glare. 

Seonghwa gets up to make San a coffee without even being asked, putting a hand on the back of Hongjoong’s seat as he slides it across the table, as if to nail home the point that San gets one and he doesn’t. Hongjoong almost laughs- San catches the way his lips tug up and mistakes it for a smile, looking between Hongjoong and Seonghwa who’s still lingering above him.

“Thanks,” he says to Seonghwa, accepting the coffee, his eyes never quite managing to leave Hongjoong. “So-”

“Don’t.” Seonghwa sits back at the head of the table, giving San a warning glare. “You’ll scare him away.”

“ _Please_ ,” San rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t seem that easy to scare. Plus, if you haven’t did it already-”

“Very funny.”

The amusement behind Hongjoong’s laugh is genuine. San doesn’t seem to care much about Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s brief history, and even more, he doesn’t seem to think of Hongjoong as any different to Yeosang, someone young and cute he knows through Seonghwa. No longer the thief from Seonghwa’s stories.

He also seems to give Seonghwa a hard time at every possible opportunity, which is perhaps equally endearing and _definitely_ more entertaining.

Seonghwa doesn’t let their conversation stretch on for long.

“We should be going,” he says, and waves away San’s protests. “We have clients to see-” he glances at his watch “-and Hongjoong’s class should be starting soon.”

Smothering his surprise before it can make it to his expression, Hongjoong nods good-naturedly. Seonghwa plucks his and San’s mugs from the table and scrubs at them both as San gets to his feet, openly staring at Hongjoong again now Seonghwa’s back is turned, and he can’t be berated.

“It was nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” he says, smiling in a way that shows he’s being sincere, and honestly it’s the strangest part of this whole game of theirs. Not pretending to like Seonghwa, not pretending that Seonghwa could possibly like him back. Being accepted so easily into someone else’s life. Hongjoong isn’t used to polite strangers, and he’s not used to good first impressions. He tries not to think about it, how easily this version of him would be accepted as opposed to the real version, who lies and steals and plays tricks like this.

If only San knew. 

“Come on,” Seonghwa says, grabbing keys from a bowl on the kitchen counter. He glances at Hongjoong, just managing to keep up their charade. “D’you need a ride? We can drop you at school on our way, if you like.”

“Um, no, that’s OK, you two go ahead.”

He makes as if he’s going to step towards Seonghwa, and then lets his eyes flicker to San, who’s just noticed the hesitation. Then he steps back, trying to smile as unconvincingly as possible, as if unhappy he has to restrain himself in front of Seonghwa’s colleague. He sees San buy it, completely.

Seonghwa sees it too, and plays along, letting his eyes linger a little too long on Hongjoong as they leave, smiling just as the elevator doors start to close between them. 

As soon as they’re gone, Hongjoong deflates.

It’ll be a long walk to school, compared to what he’s used to. He really should have conceded to Seonghwa’s offer to drive him, but that just meant having to entertain San on the way. More than that, he sensed Seonghwa really did want to drive him, so he wouldn’t have to walk, and that damned need to be nice and selfless is so forgein to Hongjoong that he instinctively turns away from it. He’ll walk. He doesn’t need someone with so much more than he has taking pity and offering him only a temporary allowance. He can’t let himself get used to this.

He goes to school, though. He allows himself that, even when he knows he could be looking for places to stay instead. And school means Yeosang, and Yeosang means questions. So the charade continues.

It takes even less time than he’d expected.

They’re just sitting down at their desks when Yeosang turns to him and asks: “Did you find somewhere to stay, then?”

“You know me,” Hongjoong shrugs. “I get by.”

Hongjoong has none of the misconceptions Seonghwa has about his brother. Yeosang isn’t perfect, isn’t the sweet litte boy Seonghwa sees him as. If he tells him everything right now, he might go along with it. Would he really refuse to lie to San? Hongjoong doubts it.

But if he tells Yeosang everything, he’d need to explain why he agreed to it, and that’s not quite as simple. Now he has some perspective, Hongjoong himself isn’t entirely sure. 

And it’s not as if this is going to last very long anyway. Just until Honjoong finds another place, or Yeosang sees through it, because really Hongjoong would be surprised if he believes it at all.

And that’s what settles it, in the end. The desire to test Yeosang’s image of him, to see whether he’d ever believe Hongjoong could be with someone like his brother. And if he doesn’t try to trick Yeosang into believing the whole _dating_ thing, he’d have to admit he’s letting someone help him, and really he’d rather keep endorsing Yeosang’s stupid faith in him instead.

So he doesn’t explain. He says his goodbyes after class and goes back to the penthouse.

The penthouse, to which he has a key. He has a key to a penthouse apartment, now.

The receptionists give him strange looks as he passes, treading dirt through the pristine marble lobby, but he ignores them, striding as if he belongs there, sighing in relief as the elevator doors slide shut and their eyes leave him.

The apartment’s empty, and he throws himself on one of the couches and thinks. Convince Yeosang there’s something between him and Seonghwa, play along as Seonghwa fools San, let himself live in luxury for only as long as it takes for a plan B to emerge. 

The idea of Seonghwa coming back after a long day at work and seeing him lingering uselessly in his living room is more irritating to Hongjoong than is probably reasonable. He doesn’t belong here. He’s not nice or stable or any of the things Seonghwa is. And this apartment is so damn empty and huge that he can practically hear his insecurities hanging in the air around him. He needs to start acting like himself again. And himself means trouble. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d promised to make this game as difficult as possible for Seonghwa. He deserves a little fun if he’s helping the guy out, right?

Only, when Seonghwa does eventually step out of the elevator and finds Hongjoong surrounded by dirty plates and cutlery, he just raises a brow.

“Hungry, were you?” the older boy asks, toeing out of his shoes and leaving them at the doors. He eyes the pile of plates and napkins. “I see you discovered the room service menu.”

Hongjoong groans and throws himself back into the sofa. “That’s all it gets me? An eyebrow raise?”

Seonghwa frowns. “Excuse me?”

“I was hoping for a little _yelling_ , at least. Maybe a threat or two.”

The frown clears a little as Seonghwa looks around the trashed living room and puts two and two together. “You did this just to annoy me?”

“Did you really think I ordered three lobsters and some fancy octopus dish I can’t pronounce because I was craving seafood?”

“It would hardly be an unreasonable assumption,” Seonghwa shrugs. “People usually order food because they want to eat it.”

Hongjoong’s too irritated to find the words to explain the concept of instant ramen or how he’d never even seen a lobster before today, so he settles on huffing and shaking his head as Seonghwa perches on the other sofa.

“Why aren’t you angry?”

With a disinterested expression, Seonghwa pulls his phone out of his inner pocket. “Because,” he says, without looking away from the screen, “you’re going to go into the kitchen now and clean all of those plates.”

Hongjoong laughs. “It’s delivery service. They do that for you.”

Instead of answering, Seonghwa spends a few moments typing. Then he locks his phone, slides it back ito his pocket, and turns his gaze on Hongjoong.

“I’m aware of that, but we don’t need to make anyone’s jobs harder than they need to be, and you should know that the one thing I won’t abide from a roommate is slobbery.”

“Roommate?” Hongjoong repeats through a grin. “That stings, baby.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Very cute. Now clean it up.” 

“Christ, you’re a snob,” Hongjong sighs. Seonghwa clicks his tongue. “You just expect me to do everything you ask of me, do you?”

“You’re living in my apartment, aren’t you?”

“Because you asked me to stay,” Hongjoong points out. “I seem to remember there being something about a deal.”

Seonghwa appraises him for a moment. “I guess I should probably get used to you acting like a nuisance, huh?”

“Probably.” 

Somehow, Seonghwa’s slow nod seems like a challenge. “Just clean it up, would you?”

Hongjoong doesn’t move. Seonghwa’s eyes drop to the shark-like smile playing at his lips, and he sighs.

“Fine.”

Seonghwa scopes up the closest plates and carries them to the sink in the kitchen. The sound of the faucet running floats towards him from the couch, as Hongjoong sits back and watches Seonghwa return again and again until all of the dishes have been relocated to the kitchen worktop. Unbidden, the image of Seonghwa the day before returns, holding his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped.

Groaning, Hongjoong kicks himself up from the sofa and storms into the kitchen, shoving Seonghwa aside and taking his place at the sink.

“Wha-”

“Leave it,” Hongjoong growls, and starts scrubbing at a few dishes with far more force than is strictly necessary.

Seonghwa steps back, leaning against the counter. “Thank you,” he says, and Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

“Don’t thank me for tidying my own mess.”

“But you did it because I asked you to.”

“Yeah, right,” Hongjoong scoffs. “I did it because I know the specific kind of rage you get when some rich ass orders three lobsters and all _you_ get is his dirty dishes to take care of. I used to be a dishwasher.”

The barest glimpse of his past, and it’s out before he can think any better. Seonghwa’s already jumping at the opportunity to ask personal questions. “Not anymore, though. What happened?”

“They didn’t appreciate me breaking a guy's nose, apparently.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, but Hongjoong won’t look at him. 

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

“I’m usually not.”

The older boy sighs and glances at his watch. Hongjoong contemplates taking it, but the idea doesn’t bring him as much joy as it usually would. He’d just have to hide it in the apartment until tomorrow if he did actually try to sell it, and even then Seonghwa probably wouldn’t even notice it was gone.

“Right, well, I usually have a friend around for dinner today, so if you could keep the stories about all of your nefarious crimes to a minimum, that’d be appreciated.”

“A friend?” Hongjoong asks. “You have those?” 

“You’re hilarious,” Seonghwa says dryly, sitting at the head of the table behind Hongjoong. “He’s only coming for supper, so just don’t scare him off or, I don’t know, do something you’d usually do if he says something you don’t like.”

“So what you’re saying is ‘don't put thumbtacks in his coffee’. Noted.” Seonghwa looks up at him quickly, alarmed, and he flashes a grin. “I’m kidding.” He turns back to the dishes. “Mostly.”

Seonghwa scrubs at his face with one hand and sighs. “What I’m saying is that he’s in the police academy and will probably take to your little quirks less than I did.”

Hongjoong sets the last clean plate aside and turns. “Don’t call them quirks.”

Seonghwa spreads his hands out, palms to the ceiling. “What should I call them, then? The traits that could get you arrested around literally any one of my friends?”

“Your buddy San didn’t seem to mind my ‘quirks’.”

“Hongjoong.”

“Jesus,” Hongjoong groans. “Fine. I won't interrupt your tea party.”

Seonghwa watches him as he pulls up a chair and stretches out over the table. “Yes, you will. You need to help me convince him.”

Hongjoong sits straight again with an irritated huff. “Just how many of your friends do you expect me to entertain? Can’t there just be one that I don’t have to meet?”

From the shrug he gives him, it’s clear just how much Seonghwa cares about Hongjoong’s complaints. 

“Jongho worries about me,” he says quietly. “Like I’m his ancient widower father or something. It’s getting kind of tiring. If you would just show up, act like you want to be here, then you can make some excuse to leave.”

“You’ve really got it bad if all of your friends are this insistent that you date someone.”

“That’s not your concern. You just have to pretend you enjoy my presence for a few minutes without getting yourself arrested.”

Hongjoong smirks. “I’m pretty sure kids still going through the academy can’t actually make arrests.”

“Citizens arrests exist, Hongjoong.”

“Not for petty theft, they don’t. I’m a petty theft kind of guy.”

He’s rewarded with another one of Seonghwa’s exasperated sighs. “Play nice, would you?”

“Depends. What’s it gonna take to convince him?”

Another glance at his watch and Seonghwa’s strumming his fingertips on the tabletop nervously. He considers the question, frowning slightly. “Not a lot, honestly. He’s still young and naive. A few pet names, maybe. Nothing scandalous.”

“Pity.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. Hongjoong isn’t sure whether he’s imagining it or whether the older boy actually looks a little flustered. He hides it well, if he is, which only makes Hongjoong want to try harder.

“What should I call you?”

Distracted by replying to a text, Seonghwa doesn’t hear, and only when he sets his phone aside and sees Hongjoong staring at him does he realise he’d missed something. 

“What?”

“You said ‘pet names’,” Hongjoong says, trying not to wince at the phrase. “What do you want me to call you?”

Seonghwa opens his mouth to say ‘anything’ and closes it again just as quickly. Something tells him that would be the worst thing he could possibly say.

So he settles instead on: “Just something tame. Like any couple would use.”

Hongjoong gives him a funny look. “Well, what did your last partner call you?”

“My name?”

Hongjoong tries not to laugh too sincerely. “Wow. You really do need help, angel.” Seonghwa clicks his tongue, and Hongjoong picks up on the show of irritation and smirks. “Oh, hey, looks like I’ve found something to call you.”

“Whatever,” Seonghwa grumbles, ignoring how Hongjoong’s smirk stretches from ear to ear at the sound of his annoyance. “He’ll be here any minute. Just try to behave.”

Hongjoong raises a brow, that sharkish grin still tugging his lips, but doesn’t say anything. Seonghwa might prefer it if he’d say something, actually, because the silence stretches between them, and Hongjoong just smiles, eyeing him, until eventually Seonghwa’s put out of his misery by a text and then an elevator ding as Jongho steps into the apartment.

He’s not exactly what Hongjoong had expected of one of Seonghwa’s friends- not the tall, elegant, cold kind of beauty he’d been imagining. Instead, he’s stocky, a strange mixture of cute and tough-looking, short brown hair parted down the middle, tiny silver hoops catching the light at his ears. He looks more like someone from Hongjoong’s crowd than Seonghwa’s. Until, of course, he smiles, and his features melt from tough straight to adorable. 

“Seong,” he says, the syllable warm and happy on his tongue, and Hongjoong glances between them and sees how Seonghwa’s grin is brighter and wider than he’d ever seen it. The older boy starts to stand, and Jongho’s eyes leave him just long enough to spot Hongjoong at the table.

“Oh.”

Show time.

“Um, well, Jongho this is-”

“Hongjoong.” He does his best impression of Mingi as he stands, his cheeks protesting the gummy smile he throws up. “Nice to meet you.”

Jongho returns his grin, though Hongjoong doesn’t miss the way he sizes him up, first, and waves Seonghwa back into his seat. “You didn’t tell me you already had a friend over, Seong.”

Seonghwa seems to have regained his balance after the awkwardness of the introductions, and he glances conspiratorially at Hongjoong for a second before he gives a shaky smile. “He’s not a friend, Jongho. I wanted to introduce you two.”

Hongjoong meets the younger boy's eye with what he hopes is a bashful grin. He’s not very practiced in bashful.

Jongho blinks owlishly. “Oh. _Oh,_ that’s my bad. Seonghwa doesn’t usually have people over so-”

“It’s cool,” Hongjoong reassures him. God, the kid looks so flustered he can’t help it- he feels Seonghwa try not to glare at him as if sensing he’s about to do something, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the younger boy. “I told him we should give you a heads up, but he said he wanted to surprise you.”

Jongho pouts, turning a betrayed look on Seonghwa, effortlessly taking the bait. “Hey, you should have given me some warning!”

“Why?” Seonghwa asks. “So you could think up a threatening speech before you got here?”

“Maybe!”

Hongjoong laughs, and Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“This is why I didn’t tell you.”

Jongho just chuckles- alarmingly, Hongjoong realises he’s taken a liking to the kid.

“OK, OK, I won’t say anything embarrassing.”

Hongjoong despises small talk. But he’s relieved when it picks up now, because he needs to do little more than watch with a faked politeness as Seonghwa leads the conversation, inventing little details without prompting, turning now and again to get Hongjoong’s affirmations. Jongho smiles and nods and makes cute, charming little comments that makes Hongjoong feel like they’ve known each other for decades- an impossibility, with how young the kid seems, but as he talks it’s easy to forget about the years that separate them. It’s almost entertaining, almost fun, to see how the two of them bounce off of each other, pulled immediately into a reverie Hongjoong is familiar with, the same enveloping fondness and teasing he remembers from late nights with Yeosang and Mingi. Jongho seems to know just what to say to make Seonghwa smile, sometimes even laugh, and Seonghwa eases back into his boundless kindness, fussing and teasing with an almost parental affection.

When Seonghwa eventually turns his full attention on Hongjoong, his eyes blow wide in forced surprise and he taps the back of Hongjoon’s hand as if the closeness is a natural instinct.

“Wait- didn’t you say you had a report to finish or something?”

It’s not entirely convincing to Hongjoong, but he suspects that if he hadn’t been expecting it, he wouldn’t notice. For such a nice guy, Seonghwa seems to be an unnerving skilled in lying through his teeth.

Feeling Jongho’s eyes shift to him, Hongjoong mimics the shock of Seonghwa’s expression, pushing up out of his chair before he finds his voice. “Oh- shit- I almost forgot.” He can sense Seonghwa’s annoyance at the curse, and hides a smile, turning to Jongho as if just now realising his rudeness. “Sorry, I have school stuff to- I should really make my exit.”

“No worries,” Jongho smiles. “It was nice to meet you.”

Hongjoong nods a little distractedly but makes sure to return the smile. He pushes in his chair and steps behind Seonghwa’s on his way out of the kitchen, running his hands along Seonghwa’s shoulders and feeling the older boy try not to tense at the unexpected touch.

He’s probably laying it on a little thick, but he’s been too patient for his liking, so he allows himself a small smirk as he leans forward, resting his weight on Seonghwa’s shoulders, his arms snaking around the dark-haired boy’s neck.

“Come find me when you’re done, angel?”

Seonghwa nods noncommittally and shoves him away, trying his best to neutralise the situation, but Jongho’s already eyeing them with an embarrassed expression. Hongjoong at the last moment realises that escaping into the guest room might raise suspicion, and veers to the doorless arch in the kitchen-side that leads to Seonghwa’s room.

Seonghwa resurfaces a few hours later, after the apartment has gone quiet, leaning against the bedroom wall with his arms crossed.

“Really?”

Hongjoong throws the book he’d taken from Seonghwa’s bedside table onto the bed and assumes an innocent expression. “What?”

Seonghwa doesn’t buy it. “ _Angel_? You were taking it a little far, don’t you think?”

“Could have been worse,” Honjoong shrugs.

Seonghwa puts his hands on his hips. “How exactly could it have been worse?”

“I mean, I could have called you daddy.”

It’s worth it, for Seonghwa’s expression. Hongjoong grins, eyeing the irritated frown now growing on Seonghwa’s face, the almost imperceptible flush of his skin.

“Fine, angel it is.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Seonghwa says.

“You didn’t like it?” Seonghwa raises a brow, and Hongjoong laughs. “You told me to act like a boyfriend, you didn’t tell me which kind. Maybe if you’re so concerned about how your friends see me you should give more specific instructions.”

“Alright,” Seonghwa sighs, “how does _‘don’t actively rob me when I’m with a friend_ ’ sound? Too specific?”

“Don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Give me back my watch, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong copies the shocked expression Seonghwa had used to send him away, patting his clothes down as if just now noticing the object in the pocket of his shirt. “Oh,” he says, as he brings out the glinting golden object usually attached to Seonghwa’s wrist, “now how did that get there?”

“If you were wanting to see whether he’d notice, the answer is yes. Did you think about how difficult it’d be to convince him you were just playing?”

“I’m sure you managed.”

Seonghwa doesn’t deny it. Hongjoong tips his head, raising his hand in the air, the watch lying in his palm, and waits for Seonghwa to step closer, arm outstretched, before closing his fingers around it, stopping the other boy taking it.

“Did _you_ notice?”

Seonghwa holds his gaze as he drops his arm, the barest hint of annoyance on his face. After a long, quiet moment, he asks: “What do you want me to say?”

Instead of answering, Hongjoong uncurls his fingers, and Seonghwa doesn’t waste another second before he takes the watch, already turning away as he slides it back on.

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Hongjoong asks, surprising himself, though his voice is carefully emotionless.

“A few years,” Seoghwa says noncommittally. “We had a few classes together in college. He’s younger than Yeosang, so I graduated first, but…”

“But?”

Seonghwa looks back at him, frowning, and doesn’t finish his sentence. He crosses his arms again, and though the frown on his face is more distracted thoughtfulness than any negative emotion, Hongjoong takes a moment to very obviously trail his eyes up and down his form, the not-so-friendly stance, arms crossed, lips just tugging down at the edges.

“What?” Seonghwa asks.

Hongjoong leans back in the armchair he’d taken, deciding on a sly smile instead of a shrug. “I’m not allowed to admire my boyfriend?”

Seonghwa sighs and trails back through to the living room. Hongjoong chuckles quietly- not too quietly that Seonghwa can’t hear- and closes his eyes.


	9. Interruptions

Seonghwa is already sitting at the kitchen table when Hongjoong pries his eyes open the next morning and forces himself up off the sofa to the coffee machine. 

“Good morning,” Seonghwa says, not looking up from the newspaper spread out before him.

Hongjoong grunts noncommittally. He gulps boiling coffee and takes a seat before he can manage anything resembling conversation, rubbing at his eyes.

“What’s on the agenda?” he asks, voice still deep and grainy with sleep. “No surprise visitors tonight?”

“Not that I know about,” Seonghwa mumbles. 

Hongjoong studies him over his coffee. He’s sitting as poker-straight as ever, focussed on the paper with a faint frown of concentration, a half-eaten pastry abandoned on a plate by his empty mug.

“I liked him. Your friend,” Hongjoong says, pretending to forget Jongho’s name.

Seonghwa’s frown deepens marginally, for a short second, but then it’s gone. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t seem very fond of you, so you’re going to have to step up your game next time you see him.”

“Next time, huh?”

Seonghwa flips to the back page of the newspaper, folds it in half, and gets to his feet, his empty mug clutched lightly in his grip.

“If Jongho doesn’t like you, San won’t like you,” he says as the faucet starts running. “And if San doesn’t like you then Wooyoung won’t like you, and then Yunho-”

“Jesus, I get it, you can stop now.” He tries to ignore his surprise that Seonghwa’s friendship group extends so far, because acknowledging it seems like it would lead to feelings that are harder to deal with, but he considers their situation lightly with a new level or apprehension. “Am I supposed to meet all of those people?”

There’s a clinking sound as the mug is returned to its cupboard. “If the situation calls for it.”

“And I suppose you decide that, do you?”

Seonghwa lifts one shoulder. Hongjoong turns a scowl into a smirk because he knows it’ll do more damage.

“Are any of your friends any fun?” he asks.

The corner of Seonghwa’s lips turn up dryly. “I think we have different definitions of fun.”

Hongjoong hums in acknowledgement, making sure there’s a note of derision to the sound. “What’s yours?” Seonghwa doesn’t look like he’ll elaborate, so Hongjoong offers a few suggestions of his own. “Charity banquets? Adopting stray kittens? Handing out old Gucci shirts to orphanages?”

“Only on weekends.”

“I _genuinely_ can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

Seonghwa isn’t in a talkative mood, and as soon as San’s stepping out of the elevator, they’re saying their goodbyes, and Hongjoong is left in the apartment with only the prospect of the long walk to school for company. His day is slow and uneventful and he finds himself curling up on the sofa of the penthouse for a few hours after classes, slipping in and out of sleep, uncertain what to do with himself, until the elevator dings Seonghwa’s arrival. The windows are already dark with the late hour, the sky black-blue, lit with the gold of streetlights below. Hongjoong squints at Seonghwa and wonders at how similar he looks to the last time Hongjoong had saw him, that morning, showing absolutely no signs of tiredness despite the hours and hours he had been at work. 

Seonghwa opens his mouth to greet him, but his ringtone interrupts, and he fishes out the phone in his pocket, glances at the caller ID, and sighs.

“I should take this,” he says, though he doesn’t wait for Hongjoong’s reaction before he turns and steps into his bedroom, out of sight. From his spot on the sofa, Hongjoong can still hear the conversation he’s pulled into, but he can’t even content himself with eavesdropping when the chatter is so dull. Seonghwa’s aunt seems just about the most boring person to ever exist, though Seonghwa laughs and talks back as if the conversation were the most riveting thing in the world.

When he finally escapes, Hongjoong’s head is resting on the cool surface of the kitchen table, his eyes closed and a frown wrinkling his forehead. Seonghwa clicks his tongue but pulls out the chair at the head of the table, setting his phone down with a grateful sigh.

Hongjoong sits up and catches the fatigue in Seonghwa’s expression before the older boy can cover it up.

“One more thing to add to the list of hobbies, then. You sounded very excited about your aunt’s new summer home.”

“Did you have to eavesdrop?” Seonghwa sighs. 

“Oh I didn’t, for long, that wasn’t interesting enough to hold my attention.” Seonghwa shakes his head, as close to slouching as Hongjoong had ever seen him. “I can’t believe you stayed on the phone that long. You just got back.”

Seonghwa spreads his hands out, palms to the ceiling, in an imploring gesture. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Not answer?” Hongjoong offers. “D’you know how weird it is for someone our age to actually talk to their relatives?” Seoghwa gives him a nonplussed expression. “Parents, maybe, but I think the last time I spoke to my aunt on the phone was when I dialed her number by mistake.”

“Plenty of people our age talk to their relatives,” Seonghwa argues.

“You think your buddy San is stuck inside on a friday night discussing bridge games with his elderly uncle?”

“I wasn’t-”

“You might as well have been. _God_ , I’m bored out of my mind.”

Seonghwa ignores his whining and wastes some time making himself a coffee- not offering Hongjoong one-, trying not to look as if he’s thinking too hard. Yeosang’s a lot easier to entertain than his new house guest, and it’s been so long since Seonghwa had done anything but eat a quick dinner with his friends that he can hardly remember what people usually do together in situations like this. Well, not quite like this. He guesses their circumstances are a little...unique.

He’s still struggling to think of something to say or do when the phone rings on the table between them. 

Hongjoong glances down at it, reads the word _Dad_ , and says quickly: “Don’t pick it up.”

He slides the phone towards himself before Seonghwa can pick it up, too fast for Seonghwa to stop him.

“Wh-why would I do that, what if it’s something important?”

Hongjoong holds the ringing phone close to his chest, but Seonghwa’s too dignified to try to snatch it back. “It won’t be.”

“And if it is-”

“Then they’ll call back.”

Both of them fall silent as the call ends, Seonghwa’s eyes glaring straight into Hongjoong’s as they wait. A few seconds tick by. The phone starts ringing again.

Hongjoong swipes the answer button and puts it to his ear.

“Hello, Park Seonghwa’s office, how can I help you?”

Seonghwa’s mouth drops open, and Hongjoong holds back a laugh. 

“No, this is his assistant. He’s not available at the minute, there’s been an unexpected rise in clientele and unfortunately the workload won’t slacken for a few weeks at least- yes. Yes, I’ll tell him you called, when he’s free, though I can’t guarantee he’ll have time to respond until the new cases have been settled. Great, thank you for understanding. Yes, I’ll make sure to tell him you called. Bye, now.”

Hongjoong ends the call and sets the phone casually on the tabletop between them. Seonghwa blinks at him, dumbstruck.

“ _An unexpected rise in clientele_?”

“It was the best I could come up with on such short notice,” Hongjoong shrugs. “Your old man seemed to buy it just fine.”

A flicker of something passes over Seonghwa’s expression, so fast Hongjoong doesn’t have time to decipher it.

“Since when have you been my assistant?”

“Since a few seconds ago. And I’d like to formally resign, unless any of your other relatives decide to get nosy in the next few minutes.”

The same dark shadow passes over his face, and this time Hongjoong’s looking for it, and sees it all.

“I can’t believe you.”

“I-” Hongjoong stops, as Seonghwa shakes his head and the angry flicker starts overtaking his calm expression, no longer fleeting, darkly lighting his eyes. “I’m actually making you angry, amn’t I?”

Seonghwa laughs sharply, the usual warm sound twisting into something bitter. “I’m glad you noticed, Hongjoong. You didn’t seem overly concerned about my feelings a second ago.”

After everything Hongjoong had been trying to get under his skin- this is what finally does it? Hongjoong laughs with disbelief.

“What’s the big deal? It was just one phone call.”

“You don’t understand,” Seonghwa says harshly, standing suddenly, his chair scraping the floor with a shriek. “You had no right to interfere with my business-”

“It wasn’t _business_ , Seonghwa, it was your father.”

“You think that’s better?” Seonghwa asks, his voice barely above talking volume, but rising. “You’re- you’re- this is my life, Hongjoong, and just because it’s different from yours that doesn’t mean you can stick your nose where it doesn’t belong-”

“Who was it that asked me to stay here, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong hears his own voice rising, and he pushes himself to his feet. “You _asked_ me to interfere with your business. What, there’s no plan somewhere down the line where I meet your parents and talk about how much we love each other so you don’t have to listen to them whine about how lonely you must be in your big penthouse apartment all by yourself?”

“Like I’d introduce someone like you to my family,” Seonghwa scoffs.

“I _know_ your family,” Hongjoong bites. “I know Yeosang better than you’ll ever know him. And before you talk about how easy it is for me to lie to him for your benefit, remember that this was _your_ idea.”

Seonghwa nods, a sharp smile cruel and bitter on his lips. “Clearly I put too much trust in you. You just don’t know how to stop yourself, do you?”

Scorn fills his voice as Hongjoong chuckles. “You must hate that,” he says, tipping his chin to the ceiling, stepping closer. “Usually so in control. I bet you can’t stand someone coming in and messing up your tidy little life, huh?” Seonghwa steps away when he tries to close the distance between them, backing away, his anger already starting to decelerate, only fueling Hongjoong’s more. “Why so quick to run away, Seonghwa?” he tips his head, almost amused when Seonghwa keeps inching away with every step Hongjoong takes forward. “Struggling to keep control? Don’t know what to do for once?”

Seonghwa takes another step back and raises a hand. “Stop that.”

“Or what?” Hongjoong laughs. “Not angry anymore? You’re sure you’ve said your piece? I think I deserve more than that, don’t you?”

Seonghwa glances over his shoulder and realises he’s being cornered- Hongjoong had been pushing him further toward the edge of the kitchen, where the counters form three walls in an open rectangle formation, the faucet on his left, the row of counters separating the kitchen from the living room on his right and a wall of counters behind him. 

Hongjoong’s smirk is sharkish, familiar. “Come on, angel. Aren’t you tired of playing so nice?” Seonghwa tries to sidestep him, but Hongjoong pushes him backwards. “You know what they say about people that like being in control.”

Seonghwa’s one step away from being trapped- something snaps, rushing over his features, and Hongjoong yelps as the older boy grabs him and spins them, shoving him onto the top of the kitchen counters and caging him in with a hand either side of Hongjoong’s legs, standing between them. He hooks one finger in the collar of Hongjoong’s shirt and tugs, so they’re at eye level, feeling Hongjoong freeze at their sudden closeness.

“Is this what you wanted?“ Seonghwa breathes. Hongjoong says nothing, his face expressionless in his shock, and Seonghwa smirks in that way he’d seen the younger boy do so often at his expense, feeling Hongjoong’s eyes catch the movement and drop to his lips. “Ran out of clever things to say?”

Hongjoong glares down at him. 

The elevator dings.

Seonghwa tears himself away so quickly he almost topples backwards into the kitchen table, and Hongjoong jumps down from the counter just as fast, but it’s no use- San’s phone is held up to his face, but his eyes are on them, and they’re wide, almost as wide as the grin stretching across his face.

“Huh.”

“Could you have _any_ worse timing,” Seonghwa groans, covering his face with his hands. Hongjoong looks from his very obvious dismay to San’s self-satisfied smirk and laughs- really, sincerely laughs, a sound that rips through him without hesitation, because Seonghwa’s irritation is hilarious, considering what it must have looked like to San when those elevator doors opened. Seonghwa can’t explain, now, no matter how much he wants to. Which just makes it so much easier for Hongjoong to regain the upper hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, making sure to add the barest hint of a smile to his lips, as if he’s been caught doing something incredibly embarrassing.

“It’s cool,” San says, shoving his phone in a pocket and striding toward them, “but I eat breakfast here, so, just making sure that the table is a neutral zone-”

Seonghwa visibly winces. “San, Christ, stop talking.” He takes his face from his hands and recovers some of his dignity, standing straighter, but tries anyway- “It’s not what it looked like.”

“Really?” San asks with unfathomable amusement. “Cause that’s an impressive blush your boy toy’s wearing.”

“It’s Hongjoong.”

San pulls out a chair, muttering a “Right” noncommittally as he sits. Hongjoong narrows his eyes.

Seonghwa sighs. “At least try to remember, would you?” he scolds as he takes his usual seat at the table.

“Sure,” San says, somehow not picking up on Seonghwa’s disappointment at his flippancy. “I doubt it’ll take me long, it’s not as if you have so many other gentleman suitors I need to remember.”

Seonghwa frowns at him, and Hongjoong slides into the chair opposite San's with a smile. “What was the last one like?” he asks, his grin conspiratorial. His heart’s racing too fast in his chest, and wants to say something that stings. “He won’t tell me about these things, you know.”

It’s a risk, but he’s relieved to hear San laugh. Seonghwa seems the secretive type, even as he’s kind. 

San leans forward across the table, matching Hongjoong’s smile, like a mother revealing all of her son’s embarrassing secrets. “Maybe he can’t remember,” he stage-whispers, “it’s been a while, you know.”

Hongjoong tries to smother a frown at the hint- Seonghwa had mentioned all of his friends annoying him by trying to set him up, but maybe there’s more to the story than he was letting on.

“Come on, it can’t have been that long.”

“I’m still here, you know,” Seonghwa cuts in.

San gasps as if he’s just noticed the older boy’s presence. “Oh yeah. Make me a coffee, would you?” 

Seonghwa’s eyes glare into the ceiling high above them. “Why are you here, San?”

“I can’t drop by to see a friend?”

“Is that all this is?”

San looks like he wants to argue, but then sighs. “No,” he admits. He leans down to fumble inside the satchel he’d thrown by his seat and returns with a wad of papers, slapping them down in front of Seonghwa’s seat. “Seems the problem’s worse than we thought. One of the interns gave the accountant last month’s figures instead of this one’s, so-” his eyes stray to Hongjoong, sees him listening, and stops.

Seonghwa glances between them, realising the reason for San’s sudden pause. “I see.” He pulls the paper pile toward him and peruses it quickly. “I understand,” he says, still eyeing the figures on the page he’s holding. “You can leave them with me. I’ll sort it.”

“You sure?” San asks, in a way that’s clearly him trying to hide his relief with concern. 

Seonghwa just nods. “You’ve had a long day already.”

“So have you,” Hongjoong points out.

“It’s fine,” Seonghwa smiles. His eyes remain on San, though it was Hongjoon that had spoken. “I’ll deal with this. You can get some rest, go on.”

He waves San away, who escaped gratefully into the elevator with a lot of thanks and promises, already starting to sift through the sheets of paper with a frown.

“I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow,” Hongjoong says.

Seonghwa stands and rummages around the kitchen, returning to the table with a notepad and pen. “Our firm’s too small to have it’s own accountant yet,” he says distractedly, “so we use one from an independent company. They ask for a monthly financial record so they can sort out the taxes and work out budgeting and everything we can’t do ourselves, but-” he glances at the papers and sighs. “Mistakes happen.”

This _really_ wasn’t what Hongjoong had had in mind when he’d been complaining about his boredom. He could be somewhere making trouble for himself right now, trying to enjoy himself, instead of being stuck up here with this. But he doesn’t leave. He gets Seonghwa’s laptop from where he knows it’ll be, sat by the bed, and sets it down for him on the table, warring with the coffee machine until it coughs up two more coffees. Seonghwa grimaces when he drinks it, but his thanks still sound sincere. Hongjoong can see a vague outline of colorful graphs in his irises where they’re reflected from the computer screen. 

Hongjoong pulls a few sheets from the bottom of the pile and settles into his chair.

Seonghwa’s too distracted to notice him, so he keeps doing it, shifting through the pile, replacing the papers he’s read with ones he has yet to look over, making a game of how obvious he can be without catching Seonghwa’s eye. He always succeeds, though, and the thrill wears thin very quickly. 

He focuses on the numbers, the equations. Though it’s far from how he wishes to spend his time, deep down he doesn’t mind this, puzzling over figures. There were a few courses he’d considered for college, but they’d all included numbers. Better to know when he was wrong, than guess at vaguer answers, never sure whether his opinions were valid. He can never lose himself in words like he does in numbers, and when he sighs and stretches, he realises the sky has just started to lighten, and a shocked glance at his phone shows the late night has started transitioning into early morning.

Seonghwa’s staring at him. Hongjoong doesn’t know how long he’s been looking his way.

“What?”

Seonghwa’s wide eyes flicker from his face to the stray scrap of paper under Hongjoong’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to guess what you paid in tax last month.” He holds the sheet up for Seonghwa to see, startling when the older boy snatches it out of the air and holds it in front of his eyes.

“Relax, Jesus, I told you I only do the small kinds of crime, right? I’m not going to run you out of business.”

“That’s not-” Seonghwa spreads the sheet full of Hongjoong’s scribbles onto the table. “That’s not what I was thinking.” He fixes Hongjoong with a look that’s strange and new, and Hongjoong doesn’t understand what’s behind it. “You’re good with numbers.”

“No need to sound so surprised. It’s pretty simple when you think about it.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Whatever. Was I close?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, but then says, slowly, “You were a few dollars out.” 

“Huh. Would you look at that.” His knuckles crack as he curls and uncurls his fingers. “Stop staring at me like that, would you?”

Seonghwa collects himself, his eyes going back to the screen of his computer. “So-It’s just...not what people our age would be doing on a friday night.”

Hongjoong glances at the sky through the wide windows. “It’s not friday night anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I just like being right,” Hongjoong shrugs. “And you looked spooked, which was an added bonus.”

Seonghwa shakes his head again, slowly, his eyes still a little too wide. He thinks back to the times Yeosang had sat at this table, telling stories, answering questions, before Seonghwa had a face to associate with the name _Hongjoong_ , the name that appeared so often in Yeosang’s conversations. He’d just been a student in Yeosang’s classes, to Seonghwa. What had Yeosang called him- lazy genius? No, that wasn’t it. Reluctant genius. The kind that doesn’t like acknowledging it, that hates being in the spotlight.

“How would you feel about-”

Hongjoong cuts him off, not meeting his eye as he shuffles the papers he’d been using into a pile. “My turn to ask the questions, angel.”

Seonghwa sighs, but doesn’t say anything.

There is, as always, a multitude of questions Hongjoong wants to ask swimming around in his mind, but he picks an easy one, given the early morning hour. “What’s up with your buddy San?”

Seonghwa frowns as he closes the computer. “What about him?”

“Is he another one of your fixer upper projects?”

The silence is so deep, Hongjoong can hear the ticking of Seonghwa’s watch. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“No?” Hongjoong laughs. “You haven’t asked me if I’ve found a place to stay yet.”

“We made a deal,” Seonghwa reminds him. “It’s not as if you’re here because I wanted to be charitable.”

“Not entirely, maybe. But you don’t seem to be in a hurry to get rid of me either.”

“Can you afford any apartment in the city that isn’t a scam?” Hongjoong’s scowl is answer enough. Seonghwa opens his hands in a shrug-like gesture. “It’s not as if you have much of a choice, then.”

“Great. I just _love_ being stuck here with you until you get fed up and kick me to the curb,” Hongjoong says drily.

“It’s not exactly my idea of a good time either,” Seonghwa opposes. “You think it’s easy for me to live with you?”

“No, you’ve made it clear how much I mess with your clever little system.”

“Here we go again,” Seonghwa sighs. “It’s too late for this. Early. It’s too early for this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Hongjoong stands too, stretching tired arms over his head, groaning at the dull ache at the base of his spine. Seonghwa stops at the boundary of his bedroom and looks back, just in time to see Hongjoong settling into the cushions on the sofa.

“I have a guest room,” he says. “Use the guest room.”


	10. Push and Pull

Mingi resurfaces the next day, stepping out of a little red car outside the school and waving to a driver who barely looks away from glaring at Hongjoong before he’s driving away again.

“Good to see your brother’s high opinion of me hasn’t changed,” Hongjoon says drily, as Mingi gives him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” the younger boy sighs. “I told him I could get the bus, but...”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Yeah, having someone drive you around all the time must be so difficult.”

His words had carried more bite than he’d meant them too- Seonghwa had once again offered to drive him to school that morning, and the reminder, and the fact that the soles of his feet are sore because he’d been stubborn enough to refuse again, irritates him more than it should.

Mingi, who’s more than used to his petulant moods, just slaps his arm. “Don’t be an ass,” he says mildly, waving to Yeosang, who steps up to them in time to hear the end of his sentence, and laughs.

“But it’s the only thing he’s good at,” Yeosang says through a smile, and then yelps and dives aside as Hongjoong leaps towards him.

Mingi plants himself in the middle of the two of them as if Hongjoong is a real threat to Yeosang's security, keeping up the pretence that he'd do more than glare and ruffle Yeosang's perfect hair. “Anyway, what's happening with you? Where are you staying?”

There’s something gratifying in the idea that it’s taken either of them this long to question him. Mingi’s been setting up house with his brother for a few days, out of contact mostly, and Yeosang hadn’t asked again. They both had apparently assumed he’d sorted his situation out without their help. It’s flattering, and a little scary. He doesn’t know whether he deserves the faith they have in him.

“About that.” Yeosang narrows his eyes at Hongjoong’s tone, and Mingi frowns. Hongjoong forces his voice into dark, dry humour as he tries to sound disinterested. “I’d thought the penthouse would be more luxurious. Isn’t it weird to only have two bedrooms?”

Yeosang’s mouth hangs open.

Mingi blinks, confused. “What? Penthouse?”

“ _ You’re still staying with my brother?” _

Hongjoong winces at the volume of Yeosang’s outburst. “He offered me the guest room," he shrugs. "We made an arrangement.”

Yeosang sighs a long suffering sigh, as if he should have expected such a ridiculously kind thing of his perfect older brother. Then he turns his eyes back to Hongjoong’s face, alarmed. “Wait. What _arrangement_?”

Hongjoong fills them in on the deal he’d made with Seonghwa, skipping over some of the details, highlighting all the things he’s been doing to make his life miserable, trying to sound as wickedly proud as possible. He doesn’t share the same opinions on Yeosang that Seonghwa has, knows the innocent younger brother Seonghwa sees him as is far from the truth. Yeosang shouldn’t have a problem lying to San, or Seonghwa’s other friends.

He’s right, in the end, like he knew he’d be. When Mingi leaves them, and they start walking toward their classroom, Yeosang doesn’t seem too offended at the prospect of lying to all of Seonghwa’s friends to keep up the pretence. But Hongjoong isn’t entirely sure whether his reaction is worse.

Yeosang’s not reluctant, or even annoyed. He’s suspicious.

“Why would you agree to that, Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong figures to deny it first and see if Yeosang will believe him. Probably not. But denial is so much easier than the other options.

So he puts on an incredulous expression, as if the question's strange, and says: “It doesn’t sound like something I’d do? I get to annoy the hell out of Mister Nice Guy until I find another place, and all I need to do is act a little nicer than I am when we have company.”

Yeosang hums, and Hongjoong turns to look at him to find the look of suspicion hasn't shifted.

“What?” he grumbles.

Yeosang’s eyes roam over his face. “I don’t know...It just seems like there’s another reason for you to agree to that."

"Like what?"

Denial was the wrong choice. Yeosang gapes at him.

“You’re not being serious,” Yeosang breathes. Hongjoong gives him a confused scowl, and he raises his eyes to the sky with a groan. “Hongjoong no,  _ no _ , you can’t be crushing on my brother.”

“Are you crazy? I am _not_ crushing on your brother.”

Yeosang collapses into his usual chair in their still-empty classroom, eyes wide, muttering more to himself than to Hongjoong. “I mean he’s an attractive guy, I guess, and what with the apartment and his income and everything- Jesus, are you gold digging my brother? I can’t-”

“Yeah and the fact that he’s a stickler for rules and is so damn  _ nice _ to everyone,” Hongjoong adds, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Really my type, isn’t he.”

Yeosang only blinks up at him in surprise. For a second, he can’t think of anything to say, and then his expression twists and he hides behind his hands. “Holy Hell, Hongjoong!” he cries, his voice muffled. “You totally have the hots for my brother!”

Hongjoong scoffs, taken aback. “Alright,  _ what _ part of that made you think I like him?”

“Jesus, Joong, did you really have to pick one of my relatives? You couldn’t like literally  _ anyone _ else?” He sits back, taking his hands away from his face. “Oh god it’s so gross, I think I’m gonna hurl.”

Hongjoong slaps the back of his head. “Shut  _ up _ .”

“You do, don’t you?” Yeosang wails, looking up to see Hongjoong squaring his jaw and crossing his arms, the usual defensive stance just making it all the more obvious even if he tries to deny it. Again. 

Maybe he should have been spending more time inventing some clever lie about why he'd agreed to move in with Seonghwa instead of trusting Yeosang's devious nature to turn outwards to tricking other people instead of questioning Hongjoong's own admittedly very questionable motives. It's not nearly as fun if it's _him_ Yeosang is laughing at.

“What, do I need your permission now or something?” Hongjoong asks gruffly, and then realises it sounds too much like an admittance, and Yeosang’s moaning again. It doesn’t look like he’s talking his way out of this one no matter what he does now. 

So, in the end, he just drops into his seat beside Yeosang. “In my defense, he flirted with me first.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and then he laughs. “Oh Hongjoong, I thought you were good at people, but you’ve seriously misread some signals if you think  _ my brother _ was  _ flirting  _ with you.”

“Well it’d be really awkward if he had something else in mind when he picked me up and put me on top of the kitchen counters,” Hongjoong muses dryly. Yeosang’s mouth drops open.

“No.”

“Yup.”

" _No_ ," Yeosang repeats. “ My  brother?”

Maybe Seonghwa isn’t the only one with a perfected image of his brother in his head. Hongjoong studies Yeosang’s scandalised expression with a dark amusement.

“He said San would believe we were dating because he’d already admitted to finding me attractive, and now I’m staying in his apartment, so…”

_ Why is he saying all of this? He should be denying it but now he's just spilling all of it and can't seem to stop. _

Incredulous, all Yeosang can do is shake his head. “You...you really do like him, don’t you? That’s the only reason you’d agree to any of this.”

“There’s really nowhere else I can stay, Sang.”

Yeosang doesn’t seem to hear him. His expression goes distant, for a moment, before twisting into something close to disgust. “He’s not...being creepy, is he?”

“Mister nice guy?” Hongjoong laughs. "As if." 

The idea is somehow ridiculous, even after seeing some of the worse sides of Seonghwa since their arrangement, and a warm, fond feeling settles in his stomach, for a moment, as he sees Yeosang's protectiveness of him extends even to his perfect older brother, that even when the boy they're talking about is Seonghwa, Yeosang still worries about Hongjoong. As if Hongjoong couldn't inflict so much more damage than he'd suffer.

“Just...be careful, would you? For both of you.”

Hongjoong gives him his best impish grin as he repeats the usual lie: “I’m always careful.”

But even he knows he’s lying. And when his classes are over, and only the prospect of an empty penthouse apartment lies before him, just waiting for Seonghwa to come home, he feels a familiar restlessness seeping into him. There’s rain in the air, nothing more than a faint, musty scent, the clouds still deceptively white above him. People filter through the streets with hurried footsteps. The usual itch starts at his palms.

He heads into the city, through shopping centres and down cleaner, well-maintained blocks of streets until he gets to the same bench he’d been sitting on when Seonghwa had interrupted his work for the second time. He’d left the handbag there, under the girl’s seat, so it isn't a danger to come back here. People shouldn't know his face. 

He takes a seat on the bench she’d been sitting on, wondering ridiculously for a moment whether it would feel different to sit on this side, facing the stores instead of the streets lined with taxis. It feels the same, and his restlessness grows.

His eyes scan the crowds. They’re slow, but filling up as kids get out of school and people take their lunch breaks. Not exactly ripe for the picking, but he could use the challenge. 

A part of him had hoped that Seonghwa’s plan might actually work out for him. That a week or two living in luxury and seeing what it might be like to not prowl streets could train him out of the bad habit. But it’d take more than that to shake the restlessness. He’s stolen things when they needed cash, when the rent went up. But he’s stolen things in times like this, too, when he doesn’t need the spare change. It’d been a habit born of necessity, but it’d grown into something more very quickly.

He doesn’t think about it. He goes back to the penthouse with plastic bags weighing him down and hopes it’ll stop the restlessness, even for a moment. He pretends he'd did it just to annoy Seonghwa, to see how far he could push his generosity. But even that doesn't seem as fun as it used to.

“Hello, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa sighs a few hours later, toeing out of his shoes and hooking his bag on a peg by the elevator. “Make any mischief today?”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, feeling more annoyed than he should that Seonghwa’s dry joke is close to reality.

“What about you, perform any miracles? Get any kittys out of trees? Spend your lunch break cleaning up the streets?”

Seonghwa laughs as he steps into the kitchen. He opens the fridge, and Hongjoong’s stomach drops as he tilts his head, sifting through a few plastic containers.

Seonghwa turns to look at him over the kitchen counters. “The fridge was already filled.”

“I wanted to buy my own food.”

Seonghwa sighs. “Stealing money from other people to purchase a few snacks you don’t need does not count as  _ buying your own food,  _ Hongjoong.”

“I won’t depend on you for everything,” Hongjoong tells him, and Seonghwa blinks at him, shocked by the anger in his voice. Hongjoong's scowling, unable to stop himself, annoyed with himself, for annoying Seonghwa, regretting the whole thing, unable to deny anymore that the itch in his palm had had nothing to do with Seonghwa, that it's his own problem, all his own fault. He hadn't really wanted to get this reaction out of him, but now he has.

The fridge door shuts with a soft sound.

“How is this not depending on someone, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s voice is cold, and he steps into the living room space and beside the sofa Hongjoong is perched on with narrowed, clever eyes. “You needed to steal the money to buy all of this.”

Hongjoong matches his gaze with a dangerous look in his eyes. “Don’t talk as if you could ever understand, rich kid.”

Seonghwa laughs, an icy sound that raises shivers along Hongjoong’s arms. “You’re right,” he says, nodding. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you think this is better than accepting the things I give you willingly just because it hurts your pride.”

A similar angry laugh escapes Hongjoong as he gets to his feet. “What about your pride, Seonghwa? Hmm? Why do you really think you’re doing this?  _ Take this,  _ Hongjoong,  _ I don’t need it, _ or  _ let me do this, _ Hongjoong,  _ because you probably can’t do it yourself-” _

Seonghwa shakes his head. “This isn’t about my pride.”

They're both too angry for this. Hongjoong had been trying so hard to convince himself that stealing a few wallets and filling Seonghwa's freezer with food he'd bought with his spoils was just another part of their game, upsetting the older boy's delicate sensibilities, just another small annoyance he could take pleasure in. Until Seonghwa had actually turned to look at him with so much sincere disappointment in his eyes, disappointment that had stung just as much as the fact that the wallets had had nothing to do with their game, and Hongjoong knows it, and now he’s angrier than he thought he could be, just with a look. Seonghwa must have had a long day, too, to argue with him like this.

“You still think you’re doing all of this out of kindness?” Hongjoong asks, incredulous. “Not because helping someone so pitiful feeds your ego? Not because giving so much away is so much easier when you’re never wanted for anything?”

“This isn’t _easy_ for me, Hongjoong. You fight me at every turn! And I  _ am  _ doing this out of kindness. I want what’s best for you-”

“You think you can give me that?” Seonghwa matches his glare, and it only makes him angrier. He needs to calm down. “I don’t enjoy being your charity case, you know.”

“That’s not what you are.”

Hongjoong scowls. “One of your fixer upper projects, then, Seonghwa, how is that any better?”

For the first time, Seonghwa’s voice starts to rise. “Why can’t you just let me help you?”

Hongjoong lets out a low, irritated groan. “I don’t need your help-”

Seonghwa cuts him off, throwing an arm out towards the wide windows showing the world below. “You’d rather be out on the streets?”

Both of them still. Seonghwa’s eyes are wide and alarmed as they take in Hongjoong’s dark glare.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You did,” Hongjoong sighs. The fatigue is worse than his anger, and Seonghwa feels his stomach plummet to the floor as he sees how tired Hongjoong looks. “Is that it, then? Should I be packing my bags?”

“No,” Seonghwa says immediately. “I shouldn’t have used that against you, I don’t know what came over me. Forgive me, please.”

Hongjoong collapses into the sofa, throwing his head back against the headrest. He studies Seonghwa above him with the same exhaustion in his expression. “Do you understand now? Why I can’t just trust you to give me whatever I want, when you could take everything away so easily?” 

“I won’t do that. Let me help you.”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “I'd rather be a thief than a beggar, Seonghwa,” he says, and though he still looks so tired, his voice is stubborn, and the fight’s clearly not out of him yet.

"You don't need to be either," Seonghwa says, hesitantly, as if he thinks this could cause another spark of rage.

But Hongjoong just gives him a tired, bitter smile. "I've always been one or the other. Just because we have a deal doesn't mean I trust you enough to change that."

Seonghwa sighs. The room is so silent for a moment that the soft sound of socks on floorboard are audible as he steps closer, slowing when he senses Hongjoong tense up. Just as slowly, he steps around the coffee table, so he’s standing directly in front of Hongjoong, and then he lowers himself to the floor. He can feel the cool of the floor through the knees of his slacks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s so obvious from his voice that he means it that Hongjoong deflates. “I just want to make things better for you.”

Hongjoong wants to pull him to his feet, but he’s so tired, and Seonghwa looks up at him so earnestly that he almost doesn’t want to change their closeness. “Why? How can you do that?”

The first question is ignored- Seonghwa answers the easier one of the two. “I...might have misstepped. I can only apologise again if I did, I just… I just wanted to help in the way that I could.”

An uneasy feeling flips Hongjoong’s stomach. “What did you do, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa gnaws at his lip, but relents at the impatient, irritated look Hongjoong gives him. “I...I was talking to San today about the possibility of hiring our own accountant. He liked the idea, so I said we could-”

Hongjoong stares at him. “You want to offer me a  _ job? _ ”

“It isn’t charity! We’ve wanted to have our own accountant since we set up business, and the other night, you seem like you're good with numbers and- well, you’d start as an intern and someone could train you, so you wouldn’t start making money until we knew you’d be able to do the job anyway, but...so…”

“So you’d not only be my landlord, you’d also be my boss?”

Seonghwa slumps. “I-”

“Get up, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong grabs him under his arms and pushes him up from the floor, and Seonghwa stumbles for a moment before settling on the coffee table. He opens his mouth, and Hongjoong rushes to talk over him. “I know that’s not what you intended, but that’s what the reality would be, if I accepted.”

“I just thought you'd be more comfortable knowing you had a plan. That somewhere down the line you could start saving and depend on yourself, and not me. You don’t have to accept it.”

“I know.” Hongjoong sits up- Seonghwa eyes him suspiciously as he grins, sudden and sharkish. It’s not quite as sly as his usual smiles, still tired, but it’s something, and Seonghwa’s grateful for it. That is, until Hongjoong asks: “What would be in it for me if I did? Other than the money, of course.”

Seonghwa tugs at his collar. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The slightest quirk of Hongjoong’s grin shows him that the lie hadn’t been convincing. “I think you do. Isn’t this supposed to be a game on level grounds? If I’m asked to do something outside of my comfort zone, there has to be something  _ you _ have to do, too.”

Though he’s asking, it’s clear Hongjoong already has something in mind. 

Seonghwa huffs and then squares his shoulders. “Very well. What should it be?”

With a hummed laugh, Hongjoong shuffles closer. His hands land on Seonghwa’s knees, and the older boy tenses.

“Hongjoong-”

“Relax,” Hongjoong laughs. “We need to keep up the pretence of being together, don’t we? And this is payment for me accepting your offer.”

There’s an excited edge to Seonghwa’s surprised smile. “You’ll do it?”

“If you hold still.”

“What?” He startles as Hongjoong leans closer and stops the boy with a hand on either shoulder. “Hongjoong, what are you doing?”

The sharkish grin leaves his lips, but not his eyes. They’re still sly and amused as Hongjong leans in again. His hands move from Seonghwa’s knees to his shirt, balling in the fabric and pulling the older boy a little closer. When he speaks, his breath tickles Seonghwa’s neck. “Giving San something to talk about.”

Seonghwa freezes as he feels lips ghost over the skin above the collar of his shirt, and then Hongjoong’s arms are around his neck, lips warm and strong against his skin. He can feel Hongjoong smiling, and wills himself to stay still, grinding his teeth together, his hands sitting uselessly in his lap.

Irritated, Hongjoong leans back, surveying his work with a heavy look, tugging Seonghwa’s collar down to see the mark he’d made.

Seonghwa swallows thickly. “Had your fun?”

There’s a defiant look in his half-lidded eyes, like he knows Hongjoong’s trying to get under his skin. This is the feeling Hongjoong had been hoping for, the irritation Seonghwa barely manages to hold onto, something else swimming just under the surface of the dark look he levels him. This is the feeling he'd agreed to their little game for, the flutter in his stomach when Seonghwa looks back at him so stubbornly, not letting him have the upper hand. 

“Actually,” Hongjoong muses, running one calloused fingertip over the bruise forming on Seonghwa’s neck, “I don’t think it’ll show yet.”

He catches Seonghwa by surprise this time, as his lips find the same spot on the older boy’s neck, and Seonghwa’s hands jump up to his chest, though he catches himself before he pushes Hongjoong away. Hongjoong applies more pressure, and Seonghwa still holds himself like a statue, determined not to give any reaction. Hongjoong pulls his collar down further, grinning, one hand carding through Seonghwa’s hair. His teeth scrape against the mark he’s made, then bite gently, and Seonghwa’s breath catches at the back of his throat. It’s just audible, but Hongjoong hears it, and he pulls away immediately. 

Seonghwa glares down at him, but all he can do is laugh, and laugh.


	11. Coming To Life

San spots it immediately- as soon as the elevator closes behind him, he’s doubled over laughing.

Seonghwa sighs, self consciously touching the spot above his collar where his skin is bruised a dull red.

“What’s so funny?” he grumbles, only making San laugh again as the younger boy steps into the kitchen.

“You can’t show up to work like that.”

“That’s what I told him,” Seonghwa says, before realising how this sounds, and flushing bright red as San’s mouth drops open.

“Too much information, Seonghwa! I don’t need to know that!”

Hongjoong saves him before he can work out what to say to this, stepping out of the bathroom and effectively silencing their conversation. Both of them look up at him from the kitchen table as he closes the door, offering Seonghwa a small smile and completely ignoring San. To anyone else, the smile would be the picture of innocence, but Seonghwa knows exactly what Hongjoong’s trying to do, and as his eyes trail over the very familiar grey sweatshirt he’s wearing, he has to turn back to his breakfast to keep the irritation out of his expression.

San, who has also noticed that Hongjoong is, in fact, wearing Seonghwa’s clothes, covers his mouth to hold in his laughter, and Seonghwa contemplates just calling it a day here and going back to bed. He should never have let Hongjoong agree to his offer. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, that Hongjoong had been planning a million tiny ways to embarrass him in return.

“Good morning,” the thief says, as he steps up to the coffee machine.

“It  _ is  _ a good morning, isn’t it?” San says smugly, grinning at Seonghwa, who rolls his eyes and leafs through the newspaper in front of him. “Someone tells me you’ll be around more often,” San says to Hongjoong, who frowns at him. “If you’re to be our new intern, does that mean you can bring me coffee, too?”

Hongjoong bites his tongue sharply to stop himself from replying how he wants to reply, and Seonghwa, as if sensing the shift in his mood, jumps in.

“He’s not an intern, San, he’s an unpaid trainee, there’s a difference.”

San scoffs. “Is there?”

“ _ Yes,  _ San, he’s not going to be wasting time bringing you coffee, or doing your dry cleaning, or scheduling your appointments.”

San leans away, eyes wide, shocked at the real bite behind Seonghwa’s voice. “Alright, relax, it was just a joke. No need to be getting all protective.”

Hongjoong suddenly feels very unwilling to participate in their little game. Rather than the polite, friendly character he'd built during Seonghwa's friends' visits, now he’s entirely himself as he turns and leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms, and he sees San eyeing him, noticing the change.

“You remember my name yet?” Hongjoong deadpans, and Seonghwa looks at him sharply, as the air leaves the room.

San glances between them as if uncertain how to react. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong nods, his expression unchanged, still levelling San an unapologetic glare. “Good.”

“D’you remember mine?”

It’s not as much of a challenge as a genuine question, and San’s voice sounds uncertain as he asks it.

Hongjoong smiles tightly. “Of course. But I had a few other names I was thinking about calling you-”

“ _ Joong _ .”

Both of them stare at Seonghwa, who reaches to pat the back of San’s hand in apology, not taking his eyes from Hongjoong.

“You’re not acting like yourself,” he says calmly, through a smile, even though they both know that’s not true. This is Hongjoong being himself, shedding the innocent guise he usually throws on around Seonghwa’s friends, and the only one who doesn’t know that is San, who’s still looking dumbstruck by Hongjoong’s sudden shift in personality.

Hongjoong makes a few excuses about first day nerves and waking up on the wrong side of bed and excuses himself, but his heart isn’t in it today, and soon enough the elevator doors ding closed, and he’s alone in the apartment. Or, at least, he’d assumed he was. 

Seonghwa lingers by the edge of the bed, staring down at him.

“You’ve made yourself comfortable,” he notes, eyeing the way Hongjoong has flung himself star-fished out on top of his bed.

“I could hardly disappear into the guest room with San watching me,” Hongjoong grumbles. He sits back against the headboard, making room, but Seonghwa steps across the room and sits in the chair, instead.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and Hongjoong scoffs.

“What, are you my therapist now too?”

Seonghwa shakes his head in exasperation. “If you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, I won’t know how to help.”

_I don't want you to help me._ He bites back the lie in favour of another- “There’s nothing bothering me.”

Seonghwa just stares at him.

Hongjoong throws his hands into the air, surrendering. “ _ Joong _ ?”

The older boy frowns. “What?”

“I don’t remember you ever calling me that before.”

“ _ That’s _ what this is about?” Seonghwa laughs. “You do remember we’re supposed to be a couple, right?”

“It’s hard to forget, babe.”

There’s a creaking sound as Seonghwa throws himself back into his chair. “See, how is that any different?”

“Only my friends call me Joong.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m trying to be, Hongjoong.” Hongjoong shakes his head, knowing he’d never be able to explain the reason the nickname had annoyed him, angry even as he knows he’s being unreasonable, even as he knows the real reason for his anger. “Would that really be so terrible?”

“Oh,  _ sure _ , let’s be friends, angel, I can see that going well.”

Something like hurt crosses Seonghwa’s calm expression, there one second and gone the next. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he grinds his teeth, more a habit when working out what to say than a sign of anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hongjoong laughs darkly. “I stepped into your living room this morning to see you joking with a friend about the thief you’d just  _ let into  _ your penthouse, and I can’t tell the friends I’ve known my entire life about this dumb deal I made so I’d have a place to stay off of the streets without getting a lecture?”

His voice had risen more than he’d intended, words piling quick one on top of the other, and Seonghwa blinks at him, stunned. 

“Lecture?” he asks.

Hongjoong’s lips quirk into an irritated smirk. “Yeosang’s very protective of you.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” Seonghwa says immediately, shaking his head. Hongjoong feels another spike of irritation at the dismissal and gets to his feet.

“Yes he does, Seonghwa, you do things like this!”

He paces up to the tall windows, looking down at the city coming to life below them, ignoring the itch starting at his palms. He can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on him, but it takes a few quiet moments before the older boy asks: “How many times are we going to have this conversation, Hongjoong?”

Wondering at the answer himself, Hongjoong keeps his gaze focused on the city and doesn’t look at Seonghwa. He knows what he wants to say, but not whether he should say it. Seonghwa had sounded tired, and he can't blame him. Round and round in circles they go, all because of Hongjoong.

In the end, he settles on something easier. Leave it up to Seonghwa to decide.

He says, “As many times as it takes you to figure out why I’m really angry.”

With a sigh, Seonghwa glances down at his watch. “I don’t have time for this right now,” he says, standing. “Are you coming or not?”

The offer to visit the firm and see whether he’d accept the offer for an apprenticeship had been hanging over his head all morning, because his only class had been cancelled and there's no other justifiable reason for him to pass up the opportunity. Now, he’s even more on edge about spending his morning in another place that belongs to Seonghwa, and not him, surrounded by the people Seonghwa always surrounds himself with, who trust him even when he falters. How different Seonghwa’s life must look, to Hongjoong’s.

But he has nothing else to do today. He’s afraid of being alone with himself in the penthouse again. Anything to distract himself from the itch.

So he agrees. 


	12. Convincing

Driving to Seonghwa’s place of work with San in the back seat makes him understand Seonghwa’s crazy idea more. If he had a friend this talkative and stubborn, no doubt he’d come up with some ridiculous pretend scenario to get him off his back, too.

Seonghwa ushers San out of the car as soon as it’s in the parking lot, in the only space still empty in front of a narrow, white-brick building with _Choi &Park _spelled out in black, minimalist letters above the entranceway. Though he complains, the glare Seonghwa gives him has San scurrying away into the office block and leaving the two of them in the car, alone.

Hongjoong waits for Seonghwa to break the silence, staring out of the window as if there were something interesting to see in the middle of a miniature park lot full of parked, vacated cars.

Seonghwa’s quiet too, though, as he fiddles with his watch, and Hongjoong’s patience runs out before his does.

“Aren’t you going to start this lecture, already?” he complains. “There must be something you’re dying to tell me before we go in, if you sent San away.”

Seonghwa stops fidgeting and turns the ignition off. “I just wanted you to stop sulking before you walked through the doors,” he says, which backfires, because Hongjoong realises he’d been waiting for him to talk first, and it had worked, and that makes him more annoyed, somehow.

“I’m not looking forward to the idea of being with San all day.”

“Me neither,” Seonghwa laughs, surprising him. “Even less if I have to keep an eye on you, as well.”

“You can’t trust me to stick to the rules for a few hours?”

The older boy shakes his head. “There aren’t any _rules,_ Hongjoong, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t nervous-”

“ _Nervous_?”

Seonghwa shrugs. “This is a big step, is all. If you like it here, you could start working with us straight away.”

It’s a difficult thing, to hold this idea in his mind for long enough to decide how he feels about it. It would be such a huge change, he can barely believe he’s even considering it. But he doesn’t think the unfamiliar feeling in his gut is nervousness. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it’s not anxious, either. “I don’t get nervous,” he says, knowing it’s a lie but taking comfort in its facade, anyway.

Even if he recognises it’s not true, Seonghwa makes no reaction to it. “Alright,” he says simply, with a glance at his watch. “I should introduce you to the others before my meeting. Come on.”

He locks the car behind them and they’re out on the asphalt, the building an impressionable, modern block of brick before them, Hongjoong trying not to look at it too closely, lest Seonghwa think he’s interested. 

The older boy doesn’t start forward to the front doors as Hongjoong had expected him to, when he rounds the car to Hongjoong’s side. Confused, Hongjoong looks across at him to see Seonghwa is holding out a hand, between them, waiting to be noticed.

Hongjoong scowls. “You’re not serious.”

“You said you liked our little game, didn’t you? It’d only be until we got to my office.”

Hongjoong wrinkles his nose. “Is this just your way to make sure I’m always in your line of sight?”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Seonghwa shrugs, “just an advantageous consequence.”

Hongjoong glares down at his hand as Seonghwa wiggles his fingers.

“Oh, stop being such a baby.”

Seonghwa grabs his hand in his own and starts forward, entwining their fingers together and practically dragging Hongjoong through the doorway into a pristine, white-tiled reception area. San’s already leaning against the high desk in front of them, chatting to a boy with a bright smile and even brighter white hair, though at the sound of the door opening both of them turn and watch Seonghwa approach.

“Good mor-oh.”

Seonghwa laughs quietly and stops by the desk. “Yunho, this is Hongjoong. Hongjoong, this is Yunho, our lovely receptionist.”

The white haired boy nods a little dazedly and gives Hongjoong a shy smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says, and his eyes drop to Hongjoong’s hand in Seonghwa’s, though he just as quickly pulls his gaze away.

His bashfulness at least makes Hongjoong feel a little better, a little bolder, and he slips back into the usual act with a smile that he’s sure looks almost as nervous as Yunho’s. “You too.”

“San already told you about him, didn’t he?” Seonghwa asks, drawing out the conversation, friendly and warm as he chats away to the receptionist. Hongjoong wants to be in an office as quickly as possible, so he can act like himself again, but at least having something to do with his hands- crushing Seonghwa’s fingers, to make it clear he’s getting impatient- distract him a little from the restlessness, the itch at his palm.

As soon as they’re in the stairwell, Yunho and San still talking behind them, Seonghwa releases him, but it’s only to bring the blood back to his fingers, and before they reach the landing to the first floor, he’s taking Hongjoong’s hand again.

Hongjoong sighs, but lets Seonghwa lead him through another reception area. This one’s in an airy landing surrounded by glass-panelled conference rooms, just outside the doors to an office- the only office on the floor, so it must be Seonghwa’s. 

“Wooyoung?”

Seonghwa’s voice echoes across the empty space. 

“There’s more?” Hongjoong mutters, under his breath so only Seonghwa can hear him, and is rewarded by a sharp tug on his arm as Seonghwa leads him through the small lobby to the office. Inside, there’s another boy, dark haired and small, in the middle of dumping a wad of paperwork on one of the two desks in the room.

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa says again, and the boy turns around at the sound of his name. 

“Oh, Seong! I didn’t think you're meeting was until later today.”

“Change of plans,” Seonghwa says smoothly. “This is Hongjoong, I’m showing him around the office.”

Wooyoung’s brows rise to his hairline. “Hongjoong, huh?”

The boy on the ground floor had been too shy to look closely enough, but Wooyoung openly stares between them, unabashed, and spots it. His eyes catch on the mark just above Seonghwa’s collar.

He scoffs and dumps the paper carelessly on the desk. “A workplace romance, Seonghwa? It doesn’t suit you.”

Hongjoong feels Seonghwa tense and gives his hand a squeeze, trying to shock some sense back into him. When he gets no reaction, and Seonghwa stays buffering silently by his side, he smiles at Wooyoung, cocks his head to one side, and asks “Doesn’t it?” as if something so scandalous seems entirely like something Seonghwa would do, to him.

Wooyoung breathes an incredulous laugh. “No, no it’s not like him at all.”

Hongjoong shrugs and lets go of Seonghwa’s hand, going to settle behind a desk. One of them is dark wood and clusters of files, and the other is bright and empty, everything in its place- it’s not difficult to guess which one is Seonghwa's. Wooyoung watches him settle into the leather of the seat as if it belonged to him with a nonplussed half-smile.

From the angry set of Seonghwa’s jaw as he looks back at Hongjoong, it’s clear he knows what Hongjoong’s trying to do. If Hongjoong has to act nice and polite and respectable around Seonghwa, he could at least have some fun making Seonghwa’s friends question how respectable _he_ is. San wouldn’t believe Seonghwa could do anything wild, but maybe Wooyoung might.

“Wooyoung is San’s PA,” Seonghwa says, his voice level, and Hongjoong nods along as if he’s interested. “If you have any questions when I’m not here, I’m sure he’ll have your answer.”

Wooyoung smiles, flattered, and Seonghwa manages to shoo him out of the office after a few more pleasantries, closing the door behind him and glaring over at Hongjoong, who’d crossed his ankles on top of Seonghwa’s desk the moment the other boy left them alone.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says drily, “for ruining my good reputation, but I’m pretty sure our deal was to convince my friends we’re dating, not that I’m having a mid-life crisis.”

“D’you think it’s weird that he believed me?” Hongjoong asks, ignoring everything Seonghwa had said. “As if he’d thought you had a bad streak all along, and it was only coming out now.”

Seonghwa just stares at him. “Wooyoung doesn’t think that.”

“No? He barely batted an eye at that-” he taps his own neck, the same spot where he’d marked Seonghwa’s “-and he was very quick to believe I thought of you as some kind of-”

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” Seonghwa cuts across him, “knock it off. I still want to _have_ friends at the end of this.” He steps forward and knocks the side of Hongjoong’s boots off of his desk, sitting in the space they’d rested a moment before. “Wooyoung might believe you think I’m exciting and scandalous, but he still knows me. If you keep playing up, he’ll realise you don’t know enough about me for this to be real.”

“I know plenty, angel, Yeosang mentions you every time he drinks.”

Seonghwa frowns. “What kind of things do you know?”

Hongjoong smiles and doesn’t say anything. 

“You don’t want to prove how smart you are, now?” Seonghwa asks, rolling his eyes. “Usually you jump at every opportunity to prove how much more you know than me.”

Hongjoong studies him with an amused, sly expression. “You think I don’t know you’re just trying to figure out what Yeosang says about you when you’re not there?”

Seonghwa crosses his arms and looks away. Hongjoong laughs.

“I know you were always top of your classes,” he says. “I know you’ve known San most of your life, and you started this firm together with a lease from his parents, and I know business went better than any one thought it would, and you used your salary to rent an apartment in the middle of the city. Yeosang helpfully left out the fact that it was a penthouse, though. I guess he didn’t want me to hate you too much without even meeting you.”

Seonghwa’s still avoiding his eye as he asks, “What else?”

“I know you asked Yeosang to live with you. I know he stays over sometimes because he thinks you must be lonely.”

“I’m fine on my own," Seonghwa says immediately. It must be something he's used to saying, easy and familiar on his tongue.

“Are you?”

Seonghwa meets his eye. The office door bangs open and San steps in before he can say anything.

“Woops,” San sings. “I can come back, if I was interrupting something-”

Seonghwa stands, stepping away from the desk. “What took you so long?”

San’s smile quirks playfully. “Yunho had a lot of questions,” he says, as his eyes stray to Hongjoong and back to Seonghwa.

“Do I even need to ask?”

With a laugh, San settles behind his desk. “Probably not.”

Hongjoong stares across at him. “Do you really share an office with him everyday?” he asks, drily, meeting San’s gaze with an unamused frown.

“I schedule as many meetings as possible just to get away from him,” Seonghwa sighs, nodding, as if there were a great weight on his shoulders. San sticks his tongue out at him.

“Some of us have work do to, you know,” he says. “So if you could-”

“Yes, alright, we’ll leave you to it.” Seonghwa fiddles with his collar and gestures for Hongjoong to walk past him. “The conference room should be free until my meeting, we can talk there.”

Hongjoong glares for a few seconds in San’s direction just to drive home the idea that he doesn’t like being moved, but relents, and follows Seonghwa out of the office into a larger, bright room made of glass, a large mahogany table and chairs taking up most of the space inside. They settle either side of the table, and Seonghwa adopts a professional, polite smile that makes Hongjoong feel very uncooperative.

“So,” he says, sitting poker-straight in one of the plush leather chairs, hands steepled together on the tabletop, “what would you like to know about-”

“D’you have any friends that don’t work for you?”

“...working here,” Seonghwa finishes. Then he frowns. “Why would you ask that?”

Hongjoong shrugs, slinking down into the leather, ankles crossed on the chair beside him. “When you mentioned all of these people we should be tricking, you didn’t mention the fact that they were your employees, not your friends.”

“They can be both,” Seonghwa says, a little defensively. 

“ _Are_ they both?”

The professional manner cracks, ever so slightly, as Seonghwa unsteeples his fingers, arms dropping from the table as he draws away. “Yes, Hongjoong, we’re close. One of the perks of running my own business: I don’t hire people I don’t like. Besides, you’ve met Jongho already.”

 _Yeah,_ Hongjoong thinks, _and he was only slightly better than all the bores you surround yourself with here._ He doesn’t entirely mean it, and he knows that. If he hadn’t been in such a foul mood already, Wooyoung and Yunho would have been fine. It’s not their fault he feels so out of place here.

He doesn’t mention them. Instead, he smirks, and says, “Hiring me might screw up your record, then, if everyone before me has been so nice and presentable.”

Seonghwa gives him a tighter kind of smile. “I haven’t hired you yet.”

Despite himself, Hongjoong laughs a little, ignoring the way Seonghwa’s posture slackens, as if forgetting himself at the sound, as if he were proud to draw such a reaction out of him.

“True. What do I need to do?”

Confused, Seonghwa shakes his head. “I told you, Hongjoong, this isn’t a test. It’s just a tour, to see whether you'd like it here.”

The conference room is empty and silent as Hongjoong looks sarcastically around them, taking in the sights, a row of chairs, blank expanses of desk, pristine windows. “Why’d you let San kick us out of your office?”

Seonghwa surprises him by slouching back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling. A beat or two passes as he considers how to answer, and then he just admits, without softening the thought, “Because he’ll be there all day, and I was already bored of him.”

There’s real empathy in Hongjoong's voice as he laughs. At least they can agree on one thing, even if Seonghwa had still not sounded completely annoyed with San, fond still in his exasperation, more accustomed to San than Hongjoong is. 

“And you’re not bored of me?” Hongjoong asks, just to see Seonghwa consider it, his eyes flickering from the ceiling above them and settling on Hongjoong’s face.

“It’s difficult to be bored around someone like you, Hongjoong.”

Though it had been what he’d wanted to hear, if he’s being honest with himself, Hongjoong still acts uncertain, frowning as he asks, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“I’m not sure,” Seonghwa admits. “Probably. I think.”

“Then...thank you, I think.”

Dark eyes study his expression more intently. “It wasn’t a very good compliment,” Seonghwa says, almost wary, as if he thinks there might be some trick being played on him.

“I don’t get many, I can’t be picky.”

“You-”

Hongjoong waves a hand through the air, stopping him. “Don’t, angel, I was only joking.” Seonghwa tugs at his collar again, and Hongjoon’s eyes dip to the mark at his neck, just above. “If you keep being so nice, you’ll make me feel bad.”

He hadn’t expected it to be quite so scandalous, but now he’s reminded of how different his and Senoghwa’s lives are, after meeting his friends and seeing their reactions to him, and he can’t fight a sudden guilty feeling, at how put out Seonghwa appears, how he keeps fidgeting around, tugging his collar.

Seonghwa sees where he’s looking and sniffs, haughty. “It’s ugly.”

“I don’t think so.”

Seonghwa flushes, seeing Hongjoong studying him. “That’s hardly an appropriate way to look at your boss.”

“You haven’t hired me yet,” Hongjoong reminds him.

Metal squeaks as Seonghwa fidgets in his chair, looking away. “Stop playing around.”

Now their eyes aren’t meeting, Hongjoong lets himself look, taking in the pink that dusts the top of Seonghwa’s cheeks, the perfect wave of his hair, lifting it from his forehead, the dark eyes that are so stubbornly looking out through a window instead of at him, how flawless he’d look without the bruise at his neck. 

“What if I’m not?”

Seonghwa scoffs breathlessly. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Joong-”

Hongjoong huffs, interrupting. “What did I tell you about that, Seonghwa?”

Dark eyes find him, sharply. “If you get to do things like this, I should be able to call you whatever I want.”

They’re back to where they were this morning. Hongjoong finds he doesn’t want to circle around the problem like he’d did then. He usually thinks of himself as brave, doesn’t he? He's spent too long not getting what he wants.

“I don’t want to be your friend, angel,” he forces himself to say. “Don’t you know that by now?”

Seonghwa’s eyes fly between his own. The hurt that had flickered across his expression has turned into confusion, though it must be insincere, to some degree, because his voice shivers as if he knows the answer already when he asks, “What do you want to be?”

With a sigh, Hongjoong looks down at the shining tabletop. It still feels too soon, to admit it all, to answer that honestly, and though he’s never been one to hold his tongue, even though he wants to say them, he trips on the words. 

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” he asks instead. “About being alone.”

The confusion drops- annoyance twists Seonghwa’s expression. “You’re changing the subject-”

“Just answer me, would you?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa sighs. It seems as if he won't say anymore, but then he groans, and adds, “I’m fine on my own. I...just don’t know whether I want to be just _fine_ anymore.” He squirms, under Hongjoong’s gaze. “I just mean, well, that it hasn’t been so bad, having someone there…when I want them to be.”

“ _Someone_ , huh? Don’t I get to know who?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, more of a desperate, exasperated reflex than a rejection, and Hongjoong hums thoughtfully, strumming his fingers on the tabletop. Seonghwa’s eyes are lowered, watching him without looking up fully, and he grins, hoping the older boy will see it, as he gets to his feet. Seonghwa tenses as he rounds the desk and perches on the table by his chair.

Hongjoong reaches out to ghost a finger over the skin just above Seonghwa’s collar. “Is it the person that did this?”

Seonghwa catches his wrist before he can touch the bruise, quick and panicked. “What’s gotten into you?”

Grinning, Hongjoong makes no move to break Seonghwa’s grip. “I need you to like me if I want to be hired.”

The joke breaks some of the tension- Seonghwa scoffs and shoves him off of the table. “You’re fired.”

“Before I’ve even begun?”

Seonghwa makes a show of crossing his arms, eyes narrowed as he looks Hongjoong up and down suspiciously, exaggerating every movement. “You’re on probation, then. You should be on your best behaviour.”

“Of course,” Hongjoong says, but his actions oppose his words- Seonghwa doesn’t lean away as he reaches for him this time, stilling as Hongjoong’s fingers curl around his jaw. “When have I not been, angel?”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I can think of a few times.”

“I’m sure you’ll keep me in line.”

Seonghwa laughs, but it’s a nervous sound, higher than his usual chuckle. Hongjoong almost draws away, Seonghwa’s nervousness is contagious, but he can’t quite manage it, Seonghwa’s skin warm against his own, the pulsepoint under Seonghwa’s jaw thrumming rapidly against one of his fingertips. He leans down, and Seonghwa meets him half-way, one hand on the small of Hongjoong’s back, stabilising himself, as Hongjoong draws closer. 

Hongjoong would never admit it aloud, cringes even at the thought of it, but it’s worth the wait, worth every frustration. Seonghwa clings to him as if he agrees, too, not soft like Hongjoong had expected him to be, pushing back with just as much force as Hongjoong is using, and then he’s standing, somehow, Hongjoong sitting on the desk as he had been a moment ago, Seonghwa’s hand under his chin tipping his face up to his, lips hot and eager against his own.

“Ugh!” someone yells, and they spring away from each other. “We can see through those windows, you know!”

Seonghwa’s eyes burn holes in the ceiling. “I’m going to kill him.”

Hongjoong gives San a cheery wave through the window, and then a less friendly gesture. “I think we’ve thoroughly convinced your friends.”

“Forget about them,” Seonghwa says, surprising him by turning Hongjoong’s face back to his own. “Convince _me,_ instead.”

Hongjoong laughs, and obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for the lovely comments, i'm really glad people seem to enjoy this story. i just thought i'd add a note at the end to say this is definitely where the story ends and, sorry to disappoint, but this was never intended to be smut. whilst to a large extent these are my own characters, their image and their names are still taken from real people, and this is as far as i want to go. i don't want to stretch the ending on longer than it needs to be, and im pretty satisfied with it how it is now. so, im sorry to everyone saying they want more updates, but i really think its for the best that the story end here, as i'd always planned. again, thank you so much for the comments and the kudos, i really appreciate the support people gave this story <3 <3


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